


Laevateinn

by Xxsweet-venom-kissxX (PinstripesAndConverse)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Post-Avengers (2012), Cameos to be made by other Marvel characters later on, Gen, Hints at parts of Thor The Dark World but actually ignores it, Mythology References, Other Female Character - Freeform, Redemption Quest, The Lay of Svipdag is the base of the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 48,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/Xxsweet-venom-kissxX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a way to redeem himself, Loki is charged with finding and protecting a Midgardian.  One who is responsible for finding a weapon of legend, capable of bring devastating destruction and death if it falls in the wrong hands.  Like most mortals touched by fate, she finds it very hard believe that she’s responsible for such a heavy burden.  This was going to be harder than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first serious venture with a Loki fic. The plot will be based loosely off of the poem The Lay of Svipdag from the Poetic Edda. It will be later elaborated on further down the road, feel free to look into it if you wish.
> 
> Jan 2014: I’ve begun editing the chapters I’ve posted elsewhere for grammar and style; here, only the newly-edited bits will be posted to make thing easier. Little hints towards parts of the backstory to Thor: The Dark World will pop up. However, this still branches off after Avengers and ignores TDW entirely.  
> I’ve also found a good translation for the myth I’m basing this off of, by Kevin Crossley-Holland; his version is slightly different regarding the rooster Vidofnir (some say sickle, others, like his, say tailfeather; I’ll be using both). 
> 
> This is going to be a long story. I have to bring the characters together, get one to believe everything being thrown at her, and then deal with throwing her and Loki together on a quest. It’s my first real attempt at a long fic with plot, so please bear with me. I post at both ff.net and now here, so if you've come across this before, that would be why. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The hall was a familiar sight to him, the golden walls gleaming in the torchlight. The figure on the throne gazed down upon him, his helmet throwing the flame-light in the same fashion as the walls. The woman beside the throne let a kind, motherly smile grace her lips, the same smile she had given him for centuries. 

He had grown up here under the guise that he was a true Prince of Asgard. He knew these halls like the back of his hand and several corridors no one else could see. He once called the two in front of him ‘mother’ and ‘father’. He once considered their son his brother, the very man responsible for bringing him back to Asgard.

The realization of his heritage still ached on occasion, how he had been treated all those years. Nothing like the fiery rage, the spurn he felt for not being considered a true king of the land he grew up knowing. He had taken his anger and pain out on a planet that had nothing to do with the situation, if only to get back home, away from the dark recesses of space he had landed in. 

In truth, he was only carrying out the Asgardian tradition he had grown up with, shoving his will over another realm and replacing everything the inhabitants held dear with his ideal image of the world. As Odin had done with the Frost Giants, as his ancestor had with the Dark Elves. 

His actions on Midgard had earned him the stitches that sealed his mouth. They cut off his power source; words. He was not known as the Silver Tongue for nothing. He knew which words to say, how to phrase them just right, create a loophole for himself. A trickster. He was a talented sorcerer but words were just as important to him. 

His fingers had trembled across his lips at first when he saw his appearance. Blood-crusted strings zigzagged across his thin lips, soaked where they entered his skin, crimson dripping down his chin. He had wiped it away with a wet cloth but it did nothing to lessen his gruesome visage. His reflection stared back at him, his eyes unable to escape the amount of pain they held.

He hated it. Loki hated not being able to speak. He couldn’t even ask for simple things, let alone carry a conversation. Not that there were brilliant ones to be had to begin with. 

Loki had attempted telepathy with a servant once; it resulted in the poor lad thinking he had gone crazy. He must have been new to the palace.

His pain and anger abated in the months of his punishment. He had time to think, not that he would have spent it any other way. Perhaps Thor had been right; they played together, grew up together, and knew secrets the other shared with no one else. 

Brothers not in blood, but in bond. 

If only more Asgardians were so…open. It was one thing to hear it from the one he grew up with; as if it were what was expected to come out of the thunder god’s mouth. 

He grew into a routine; every morning he would be found in the library for a few hours reading. After that, it was usually whatever he felt like doing. A sense of normalcy returned, for he had spent a very large amount of his younger years here. The books offered so much within their bindings, worlds and knowledge and secrets: all one had to do in return was to bother to read them. 

Loki had plucked a book from a shelf, one he planned to finally finish, and sat in his usual arm-chair. He cradled the spine in one hand, turning the page carefully with his other when the need arose. While immersed in the words, he could still hear the sounds around him. Others came and went, scholars put back their materials, tutors sat and taught their pupils. These were easily tuned out. 

He heard the footsteps and identified them before the servant had rounded the corner of the bookshelves. Well-paced and soft, knowing to be seen and not heard. 

Loki looked up before he could even be addressed, taking the man off-guard. It was a curious thing, the way many of them looked at him, especially those who seldom interacted with him. Staring was impolite on any level, but it was difficult to look away, he came to realize. 

“The Allfather wishes to see you, sir. Out on the Biforst.”

As he nodded his thanks to the man, Loki noticed how quickly the man had dashed out of the room. He would have smiled if it didn’t hurt. Yes, he instilled fear, but not in the way he used to. Tricks turned into murder, apprehension and fear turned to outright terror, stares and sniggers resulted in turned heads and silence. 

It was strange to meet at the place they last saw each other, before the fall. Why not the throne room? He knew Odin’s health hadn’t been its best; the old king looked so tired when he was brought back. The power it had taken to send his son to Midgard had taken its toll. 

Banishing him would be pointless. While he had, at one point, considered Asgard his home and to some extent enjoyed the beauty and knowledge the realm had to offer, it was a punishment to be here. It was home no longer; home was not a word or a feeling he knew anymore. Loki had to face what he had done, come to terms with everything that had transpired. Asgard was where that had to happen.

The Bifrost had been repaired, although the jagged seam was visible if he looked hard enough. He wouldn’t let his eyes stray towards the edge, where the whirling cosmos lay, the water and stars and dust a powerful reminder. 

The gate was not fully repaired yet; the fractured dome would take much longer than the Bifrost to fix. He wasn’t sure if there were even any connections to the other realms; the Tessarect had been the power source to bring him and Thor back. The platform and pedestal where Heimdall’s sword acted as a key were in one piece, but that could mean nothing.

The gatekeeper was staring straight out into the cosmos, watching over the realms. Beside him, the Allfather stood straight with his hand tight on his staff. Loki could hear a hushed and hurried question from his father, and a deeper reply, just as quiet.

“Have you found this individual?” 

“No, sire. I have isolated the location to Midgard, but I cannot see who…yet.”

Odin nodded, giving his thanks to the gatekeeper before turning and finding his youngest son. 

Son. 

He sometimes wondered if Loki considered himself that anymore; he was still part of their family despite his lineage. The resentment was understandable, but everything Odin did was done for a reason. Keeping the truth from him was an attempt to make him feel less isolated, grow up without the burden of knowing he was different.

Yet everyone always knew Loki was different. He practiced magic, preferred tricks and illusions over brute strength; books and experiments over sparring every day. Not that he was incapable as a warrior, he knew how to fight. His preferences and skills just laid in another area. It was enough to make him a little odd in Asgardian terms. 

Loki placed his right hand across his chest and knelt on one knee, relying on the action as a greeting. 

“Stand, Loki.” The God of Mischief rose, meeting Odin’s eye. “I wish to speak with you.”

A simple gesture of the king’s hand had resulted in the black thread splitting between his lips, the fragments pulling themselves from his lips and disappearing in wisps of black. Pale dots would line his lips forever, but he was relieved to be able to open his mouth.

“Thank you,” Loki murmured, his voice sounding foreign to him, hoarse from disuse.

“I have summoned you here to speak about a vision Frigga had recently.” 

Frigga’s prophetic visions were seldom discussed, for she hardly ever revealed what she knew. Perhaps snippets left her lips, but unless it deeply troubled her, she just wrote it down and kept her knowledge to herself.

Loki’s brow furled but he stayed quiet, letting Odin continue.

“She had seen a figure consulting with Hela in Niflheim. He was trying to persuade her into action. Into handing something over.”

Hela. He had not thought about her in a while. According to Midgardian legends, she was the result of a union between him and a Jotun, Angroboda. 

The truth was muddled. He had been experimenting; Hela had been one of three results, the other two being Fenrir and Jormundgandr. Odin had given them their place and her appearance had certainly fit the realm of the cold and ice. She was extremely emaciated, half pitch-black half snow-white. It was decided she would be the ruler of those who did not die a notable death or suffered a cowardly end. 

It was with her, in her realm, a precious item laid. Those Midgardians who had worshipped them had written about it in their Eddas. They said it had the power to kill the rooster, Vidofnir, atop Yggdrasil, who sat and oversaw the moral integrity of the nine realms. 

A half-truth.

The weapon could feel what the wielder wanted, what he or she wanted deep, deep within his or her soul. It could corrupt them or it could help them not to stray from the moral path. A destroyer of moral integrity, yes, on some level. 

In the wrong hands…

“I had that weapon forged for you, just as Mjolnir was made for Thor. It is temperamental, fitting itself and its purpose to the one who holds it. However, it was never yours to retrieve from where you placed it.”

“I highly doubt that whoever is after it is the one rightfully appropriate for that task.” Loki commented, letting a sneer ghost its way across his lips for a moment.

He remembered the weapon, an emerald pressed into the hand-guard, old runes carved along the indestructible, dark blade. He had barely held it before setting it into the chest and closing the nine locks upon it. The iron chest was placed at the foot of the throne and left for centuries. An untapped power.

Odin’s blue eye met the green eyes of his son. “That is why I have decided that you must be the one to find the one who is.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reagan’s name, at least in my head, is pronounced Ree-gan (not Reagan like the president).

Loki had kept his face blank as he had done many times over the years; behind his mask, he was fuming.

How was it that he could not simply take back his sword?  It was rightfully his to begin with, why was it necessary for someone else to lay his or her filthy hands on it in order to get it back?  The whole thing would be complicated and taxing on his nerves; too many individuals involved in something like this, and anything could go wrong.  If he wanted this done right, he’d do it himself and not rely on the likes of others. 

Forget the number of people involved, _a mortal_?  He had heard the conversation between Heimdall and Odin correctly; a Midgardian, a mortal, a _human_ would be the one to _help him_?

 “It was made for me.  I should be the one to go and retrieve it.” Loki said, the edge in his voice restrained.

 “Those words have been spoken by many, Loki,” Odin replied, slowly pacing the circular floor. “And just as many have fallen because of the actions behind them.”

 “But I am not the same as those other supposed ‘heroes’ from my bedtime stories.  I at least think before I act, rather than blindly run into a situation.” 

 “In order to find the best end for you, Loki.”  The Allfather stopped in his traces and looked at the Trickster.  “Were you thinking when you struck a deal with the Chitauri, with Thanos?  Were you thinking when you tried to invade a planet we’ve been at peace with for centuries, hurting so many people in the process?”

“Of course I was.  That required planning and…”

A wave of the large hand resulted in black threads weaving their way about his lips again. 

“You were blinded by your pain and your arrogance.  You thought, you planned, of that I have no doubt; you’ve always been a schemer.  Yet, you acted on those plans with the intention of benefitting yourself at the cost of other lives.”

The single icy blue eye met a glare from the younger man, hardly thrilled about being silenced again.  Odin once again took away the stitches, leaving angry red dots to slowly fade to white scars again.

“You will have your sword.  But only when the time is right for you to wield it.  Until then, it will be held by the one you must seek out to retrieve it.  Heimdall has narrowed it down to Midgard, but he has not seen who it is.”

He would have to hide his face, stay off of S.H.I.E.L.D’s and the Avenger’s radars, and find the person supposedly responsible for helping him obtain _his_ weapon.  Fantastic.

“And he’s sure it’s Midgard?  There are certainly a lot of people there.”  Loki stated.  “Not many of them are…unique enough to be charged with finding a weapon of lore.”

“You still belittle humans.  After the fact that you were defeated by five of them alongside Thor.  Are you speaking from pride or from fact?”

Loki stayed silent.

“You think little of them because they are not capable of the things you are.  Humans are not like us, this is true.  They, like every race, are not without their faults.  But you cannot say that they are not capable of great things.  It is because of a human that your brother-” Odin watched the other man’s expression take a slight change at the word, “-learned to defend those he cared about, knowing he was without the power he was so used to.  They are adaptable and persistent; they keep going when everything seems dark.”

Loki had to fight to keep silent, the irony of the Allfather’s words not lost on him; here was a man who loved to shove Aesir ideals down the throats of other cultures, who fought to do it, lecturing him on the magnificence of mortals. 

Odin paused, and made eye contact with his son.

“I think it is extremely fitting that it is a human who will be the one to aid you.  After all, things like this are about the journey, not the endpoint.” 

* * *

 

Loki sighed.

He had been on Midgard for weeks.  He was given a short opportunity to go and say good-bye to Frigga and Thor, for a prolonged absence required explanation.  The former knew of the reason for the departure, having seen it herself, leaving the latter confused but optimistic.  Loki never mentioned where he was going, a secret that would stay between the King and Queen and their son.  Keeping Thor a little ignorant meant he wouldn’t be able to tell where his brother had gone, only that he was.

He bounced around from hotel to hotel, airplane to airplane; he had to reserve most of his magic for keeping a low profile and searching for this oh-so-special human.  He couldn’t afford to run into a government agency and his brother’s friends, but surveillance was everywhere in public spaces. 

He would be able to travel between Asgard and Midgard, although not frequently.  The Bi-Frost was near completion, but that was far too obvious and would no doubt attract attention.  It was the only way between the realms to those untrained in the art of mischief.  Holes existed between universes-it was simply a matter of finding them.  Midgard held several weak spots, of that he was certain.

Loki would take advantage of them at a later time.  He was going to need a good tracker when he got closer to finding something a little…odd.  Fenrir would be perfect, but again, discretion.  A big wolf wasn’t exactly common to come by on Midgard. 

It was easy to cast a glamour, just enough to make him seem unnoticed.  He stood out among the humans, he knew, from mere presence alone.  Now, people saw him, but no one took note of him.

He was in another city, east coast of the United States.  New York was on his list eventually; there was no doubt security in some parts would have been increased, especially by S.H.I.E.L.D, but who thought the criminal would return to the scene of the crime…

The God of Mischief dug through the drawers of Midgardian clothes that he had purchased with money created out of thin air.  He decided on a pair of…jeans, they were called, with a button-down shirt, tie, and perhaps a waistcoat. 

The book that sat on the desk was teeming with notes inside, a few papers sticking out.  Written in runes, it was unreadable to anyone who was not versed with the symbols.  It was in that journal that he jotted down where he’d been, what he felt in terms of…magical energy, something, anything that felt somehow familiar to him.  He had found little so far. 

Loki had also procured laptop; the internet, he discovered, had a great number of resources regarding person searches.  But it helped to also read into the myths written so long ago even though he knew them by heart.  The answer was there, it was a matter of looking…searching.

He had seen a flier in the airport about an exhibition in the Natural History Museum on some artifacts from a civilization of Vikings.  It couldn’t hurt to look; if anything, he was merely being thorough.  Perhaps a historical connection would help establish…something. 

There was something a little different, although he couldn’t pin-point it yet.

As he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, he decided a bit of breakfast at a place down the street was in order beforehand.  

* * *

 

Sun had just barely begun to trickle to her windowsill when she could make out the sounds of the morning; shops below opening, cars going by, horns and sirens in the distance.  Cities never truly slept.

Her alarm let out a song from the radio, some generic pop song she vaguely recognized.  When she was younger, she had thought that her day would go according to what song played when she woke up.  If it was a good song, one she liked, she was in for a good day.  If a song played that she didn’t like, it meant she was in for a difficult trial.

She stopped thinking that long ago.  She could have a crappy morning but a fantastic afternoon.  It was all about things not getting to her.  

Dressed in plaid flannel pants and an old tee shirt, Reagan made her way down to the kitchen, where the coffee had begun brewing a few minutes earlier.  The smell of hazelnut filled the space.  She plucked a bagel from the brown bag on her counter, and grabbed cream-cheese from the fridge. 

Sticking her breakfast on a plate, she poured herself a cup of coffee and curled up in front of the flat-screen to catch up on the news. 

Her roommate was still sound-asleep, having stumbled in a few hours earlier.  Saturday nights were very different for the both of them.  Reagan came home from work and threw together her dinner before catching a Doctor Who rerun or something else that caught her eye.  She’d plop down on the couch before Casey headed out the door to go to work.  She was an ER nurse, usually stuck with the night-shift. 

Reagan was an assistant for an art dealer, who worked with some of the city’s wealthy inhabitants as well as with the city’s museums.  It was a little demanding, but the art world was ever changing.  She met a few odd people along the way, but since her dealer’s firm had been in connection with the museums in the city for decades, she tended to think the perk of getting in for free balanced it out.

Mornings were something she had grown used to; the only time she had to herself other than her Sundays when her phone was on silent and up in her room.  She worked most of the week, running around between the office and client meetings.  Rare was a day working from home.

Today was Sunday, which meant throwing on a nice outfit of street clothes heading out to take a look at the art and artifacts their client had loaned a museum.  Sometimes she’d catch up on house-work or spend time with Casey going out and shopping if her roommate was off; other times she headed to places and actually looked at the pieces she helped procure.  Reagan may have been able to work up-close with some pieces, depending on what it was, but she enjoyed being able to admire them from a distance.  To go and look at them in the same fashion others went to. 

There was always something new to be found.  She could use a small adventure.


	3. Chapter 3

He had taken a spot at a window after he ordered his breakfast at the counter. Loki was aware of the younger waitress whose eyes kept flickering to him when she got the chance.

The glamour he used dulled down the effect his presence had but that didn't prevent anyone from still seeing him. Humans had a habit of liking the unremarkable; he was aware he was considered handsome to some, even with the glamour in effect. He had hoped his magic would decrease the likeliness of such a situation. He wanted to avoid such annoying scenarios that he had dealt with during feasts and balls so long ago. Yet on the other hand, he was amused at their attempts.

He glanced at the counter as the silly waitress poured coffee, appeasing her. She was caught off-guard by the eye-contact, managing to overfill the cups and create a mini-waterfall from the carrying tray to the floor.

Oops. He turned away, barely bothering to hide his smirk.

He ate in silence, murmuring a thanks as his meal arrived. He watched people run in and out with their morning orders; mostly caffeine-related, he noted, although some grabbed a pastry or a bagel. The bell over the door, although logical when it was far less busy, was irritating with the amount of traffic.

He took his check to the counter when he was done, as he had seen other patrons eating inside do. He was pleasant but short with the man behind the counter, who handed him his change and wished him a good day. He dumped the coins in the tip jar and tucked his wallet back into his pocket as he made for the door.

As he went to grab the door, it was already being pushed open by a woman coming in. Loki pulled the door open and held it for her. She looked up and took notice of him, giving him a smile and a quiet thanks. He found the corners of his lips moving of their own accord and returning the gesture.

Something…like a twinge in his fingers when he was preparing to cast a spell ran up his arm, spreading warmth as it traveled. Nothing painful, just a surge of energy in his blood.

He left, making his way through the streets finally beginning to become alive again with crowds of people. He flexed his hand. Strange. Nothing like that had happened yet.

* * *

Reagan hadn't noticed the other figure on the side of the door until the weight of the door had been taken from her.

He was tall, with dark hair and green eyes. There was something…odd about him. She couldn't place it, but her gut didn't sit well until she had ordered her usual.

A shock ran up her arm, causing it to tense up and tingle. She hissed, a slight frown setting on her lips and brows lowering. Maybe a nerve backfired or something, she reasoned. Reagan flexed her fingers and rubbed her arm, the sensation gone as quick as it came.

Part of her felt as though she had perhaps seen that man before, and a pang of déjà-vu sat in her mind. Where, though? She surely would have remembered such a striking figure. She may have met a lot of handsome men, but something struck her that if she had seen him before, she would have recognized as such.

Reagan shoved away the thoughts for later, eyeing the baskets behind the counter to make sure her favorite was still in stock.

She had loved this place since she had moved to the city a few years ago; when she had started out as the coffee-run intern, she came here instead of a chain. More variety, at the very least.

She cast her eyes on the two waitresses, who were looking at the door and whispering, smiling; conspiring schoolgirls who found a new popular boy to fawn over. She held the urge to roll her eyes; he had clearly been older than them, after all. They could find him attractive all they wanted, but Reagan doubted he would ever consider wining and dining them.

Her attention was broken when the barista brought back her order of a piping hot coffee and a bagel with flavored cream cheese. She paid and left a tip as she usually did.

As she walked through the streets, she chewed her bagel in contemplation, finding her thoughts drifting back on where she had seen such green eyes before.

* * *

The feeling didn't leave, sitting with him like an after-taste or lingering smell. Something was odd. Different. The magic in his blood was suddenly energized, a sensation he had not felt since before leaving Asgard.

All because of some polite action to a human. Pure coincidence, surely. He was probably getting himself stressed out about not finding someone and was over-reacting.

Loki had ducked into a store nearby, watching as she left and started heading down the block, bagel in her mouth. She didn't seem to be anything special. Medium height, average build, dark brown hair. Nothing seemingly amazing about her at all.

He suppressed this ridiculous, annoying, nagging sensation, and continued heading towards his destination.

The Natural History Museum seemed to be one of the many prides of the city, Loki decided. After all, why else have a long stairway that swept the entire front of the building with huge pillars at the entrance. Many were lounging about on the stairs, tour groups from other countries, school groups, seasoned visitors. At least some were still interested in their own world history.

Loki was graced with the pleasure of security guards when he walked inside before paying for his ticket. His jacket came off, his pockets emptied and his metal belongings in a bin to be scanned. Ridiculous. It was a museum, not a top-secret facility.

He watched as a younger couple was told to head back outside to finish their beverages, which were not allowed outside of the eatery upstairs.

He was allowed to go through with the wave of a hand. Loki collected his things and purchased his ticket at the desk. He smiled politely, allowing a bit of charisma to show through as he created a bill with a sleight of hand over his wallet.

The sensation from earlier hadn't left him. It had, in fact, intensified as he began to wander the many corridors and rooms littered with old human artifacts. He remembered his first true attempts at strong magic. His veins felt as if someone had replaced his blood with an accelerant and make him swallow the match to follow suit as magic coursed through him and out. He had felt sick soon after, his body then unaccustomed to such power.

His blood was trying to tell him something; for once, he was actually close to what he needed. It teetered between the charge-the power, the high; and the waves of a crash with bothersome ailments. Not terrible, but a very annoying sense of nausea would hit and, try as he might, he couldn't entirely suppress it. No migraine yet, but if he ever used all of it at once with no control, he'd end up with a pulsing, nearly debilitating headache for a time.

Perhaps once he found the human, he could tame the magical energy or this would stop entirely. It was possible that the conflict in magic was pushing on his powers, backfiring and causing these fluctuations. Or his magic was calling out to that of the Midgardian he needed, an internal compass.

Loki wandered through the corridors with an easy pace. He saw paintings so well done they looked more like photographs, statues of beautiful marble, reconstructions of homes from a certain civilization, clothes that would have been worn. Skeletons of extinct species that he remembered so well from ages past, mummified bodies that were likely someone he had once met. All the while, he was trying to follow the path he sensed and find its source.

He came to the newest exhibit, his gut doing an unexpected flip of delight. He'd find something here.

Loki walked around, taking in the few artistic interpretations regarding Viking lore slipped in with the actual artifacts.

A recreated boat saw on the far wall, entrances to another gallery flanking it. Newly uncovered artifacts were in glass cases, creating a line for visitors to follow. Amulets in the shape of Mjolnir, a crude face at the end obviously meant to be Thor. A stone was carved with a face; the head fairly triangular in shape, a mustache curling under the nose and lips marked with short vertical lines.

Loki's lips tingled, the small dotted scars around them burning slightly. The punishment he had received at the hands of his father was part of another myth on Midgard; dwarves were said to have sewn his lips shut, not Odin.

He glanced at another statuette to find it to be one of Odin, in his one-eyed glory. Displays of jewelry, coins, helmets, weapons all gleamed in the warm light overhead and the tiny spotlights near them.

One statue in particular caught his eye. A plump bird sitting in a nest made of a glittering metal, a handle sticking out of its wing. An untrained mind wouldn't understand, wouldn't even know what kind of bird it was. Just a fat blob of metal barely resembling the grand bird it was meant to capture 

The card confirmed his thoughts, as it read: "A statue of the rooster Vidofnir, said to have roosted at the top of Yggdrasil and watched over the moral integrity of the worlds."

A statue of Vidofnir, the rooster of legend. He had refreshed his memory of the poem Fjölsvinnsmál, in which his sword was mentioned and how to obtain it. The tailfeather, or sickle as some translations called it, was what Sinmara, one of the many names for his daughter Hela on Midgard, wanted.

The sickle was a better metaphor; it could perhaps have been used, in theory, to cut down any 'weeds'. As protector of moral integrity, Vidofnir needed a way to get rid of the darker intentions, the so-called evil. 

Vidofnir had, in fact, given his sickle to Midgard long ago. He would keep a look out, but they were to govern themselves, the sickle a symbol of their responsibility and the need to use it. As the sun he was associated with, a symbol of the triumph of light over darkness, he would watch but not interfere. The tail feather was a sign of pride, naturally, as the tail feather was a majestic part of a rooster. Feathers grew back, born again through the process of life. Pride and rebirth.

The amount of irony and symbolism Odin was making him go through…

_So if the sickle is truly here,_ Loki thought, _then the sickle must be traded for the feather, and the feather given to Hela…_

Such a weapon in the hands of the goddess who ruled over the dead who met a dishonorable end was littered with more frustrating meanings than he cared to think about.

And his sword certainly had the ability to harness the idea of its wielder, if even worthy. The blade bent to the will of the user but could easily corrupt it as well. Power blinded all facilities in a sea of red.

He stared at the statue a little longer, a calming sensation washing over him. He felt better, as he did before he saw that woman this morning. The state of being he was used to.

Loki closed his eyes and sighed, a little relieved for now. While he did feel better, the feeling still hadn't entirely left, a nagging in the back of his head. He opened his eyes again and looked around.

A figure sat on a bench, staring up at the ship. Dark hair, the same clothes from earlier. She was here, and so was he. And it was with her that this strange sensation had started. He knew there was hardly ever such a thing as coincidence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had “Emancipation” from the Downton Abbey soundtrack in mind when I wrote the scene and dialogue between Loki and Reagan. Listen to it if you wish, it’s not necessary, I thought it worked nice.

She took her favorite route, passing those lovely homes on the high-end avenues with marble fronts and doormen.  Reagan perched on the front steps, finishing her bagel and savoring the hot drink in her hands.  She missed this sometimes, stopping and just watching people.  They all lived in the same city yet all had lives of their own, sharing the sidewalk but with different destinations.  The air was crisp, the hint of autumn riding the wind with a mix of urban smells: garbage, fuel, and various foods from street corner carts.  Maybe she’d grab a hot dog later.

She walked through the entrance following a small group of college students.  Reagan was greeted by the staff with a friendly face, having been around many of them on several occasions.  She handed over her bag and stepped through the metal detector, holding out her arms afterwards for the wand, an added precaution. 

After giving her regards and wishing them a good day, Reagan exchanged pleasant helloes with the woman at the ticket counter.  She pulled out her work ID and was handed a pin and a pamphlet with a map.

Reagan made a bee-line for the new exhibit, a glimpse at the paper reminding her of some of the pieces she and her co-workers helped to acquire.  She took her time to walk around when she reached the gallery.  The amulet of Mjolnir had been heavy in her gloved hands weeks ago; she had wondered how anyone had bothered wearing it.  Although, perhaps, worn on a belt with a heavy weapon, it made little difference…if it had been worn at all.  The boat against the wall on the left was finally completed, a recreation from texts and other sources, but amazing nonetheless.

The rooster had caught her eye when she had seen it up close.  It was polished to perfection, sitting in its glass display.  At first, it had stumped her; it didn’t look like a rooster, barely resembling anything except a lump of rock in a vague animal shape.  She had come to the conclusion of a bird because of its beak and the wing definition.  It wasn’t until she noticed the crest on its head that it fell together and the image came into definition. 

She didn’t know the importance of a rooster in Norse mythology nor Viking lifestyle.  She had only brushed up on the very basics of names and the idea that nine realms were connected by a tree. 

Reagan simply felt drawn to it for some reason, a teasing enigma, like the man from earlier.  She sighed in frustration.  The vicious cycle began again.  Tension began to crawl up her neck and clutch the back of her head, stab her in the eyes.  Damn, not now…

She took a seat on a bench, reading over the pamphlet she had been given.  A mere distraction in hopes of getting her mind to focus on other things.  She had met handsome men before and saw no harm in thinking as such of the stranger; it was hardly a secret considering the waitresses reactions. 

Her eyes fell upon the ship, her hand holding the pamphlet open near her lap.  It would be one of the pieces of much discussion at the charity event in coming weeks, something relatable that many of the clientele and attending guests could chat over.  Nothing compared to their personal boats or in some cases, disgustingly lavish yachts, of course.  A glance back at the paper said it was a recreation of a funerary boat.  Well, so much for being a conversation piece…

Reagan was aware of the other people in the gallery, although slighty surprised to find the other end of the bench occupied.  She took note of a presence close to her and kept her guard up.  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the individual’s shoes were distinctly male and whoever it was wore a dark pair of jeans.

Her eyes fell back on the ship, noting that she felt a pressure building up at her neck.  Damn.  All of the days to get a migraine…

“Were such ships really that large?” The question came from the man near her. 

Reagan looked and was shocked to find the speaker to be the green-eyed man from earlier.  Surprise fell over her features; she could only imagine how dumb she looked with her eyes wider and her eyebrows higher than normal.  He was sitting with his legs wide apart, elbows on his knees.  His head was facing her with his eyes were cast to his left at the ship. 

“I’m not sure.”  His eyes flickered to her; had he merely spoken aloud or had he asked her a question?  “They go for as much authenticity as possible when they do reconstructions.” She replied, with a smell, polite smile, one she gave strangers and clients.

“Ah.”  The corners of his mouth upturned for a moment, mimicking her.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye-his head fall for a moment, as if looking down.  She looked at him again to find him sipping from a paper cup with a top.  How was it he could do that when most would be escorted to the nearest garbage can?

“And how is it you managed to sneak that in?”  She kept her tone curious.  “They don’t let you even enter with them.”

He chuckled, a sound familiar yet so foreign to her.  She wanted to smack herself when the thought of how lovely a sound it was crossed her mind.  She was not silly little girl. 

Her skepticism was met with a smile, a knowing smile.  “It’s a cup of coffee.  Hardly dangerous, unless of course one has a tendency to get hyper.”

Reagan’s expression softened and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say he had a fair point.  She set her eyes back on the ship.  “So, what brings you across the pond?”

The man’s eyebrows furled slightly in confusion.  “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t…”

She glanced at him again, catching what she could have sworn was a bit of amusement cross his face, her eyes wide like a child caught in the act.  “I…you’re English, aren’t you?  Isn’t that a way of saying going overseas?  ‘Across the pond’?  I’m…talking too much…”

He clearly found her assumption and embarrassment at having to explain a phrase quite entertaining as she felt her face turn pink.  He was stifling a large grin and she heard a laugh escape his throat.  Reagan looked away again.

“I deal with people all the time; you’d think I’d know how to speak to them.  I’m sorry for the assumption; it was rude of me.  I think I’ll…” She made a move to get up and head elsewhere, anywhere to get away from this.  How the hell had she messed this up in less than five minutes…

“No, stay, please.”  She felt a hand, cold against her sleeve-covered arm and she held back a shiver from the contact.  “You were here first, after all.  And I am enjoying your company.” 

The pain grasping her suddenly subsided, something she didn’t know was possible without painkillers.  He withdrew his arm quickly, as if touching her stung. Somehow this stranger made her feel at ease, disarm her with a smile.  She sat back down. 

“’Enjoying my company?’”  She said after a passing silence.

“That’s generally what people do when they have conversations, is it not?”

Reagan looked at him as she used to look at textbooks she didn’t understand in college or when she was told something illogical or strange.  This man was odd.  His speech pattern was a bit weird and a little old fashioned even, which made him peculiar but not creepy.  Déjà vu came over her again…perhaps names were a start…

“Generally, when people have conversations, they introduce themselves.  I’m Reagan.”  Out of habit, she held out her hand.

“Loki,” She thought he was going to add something, a last name, but he stopped himself.  He took her hand; rather than shaking it, he brought her knuckles to his lips.  His hand was cold, perhaps poor circulation.  The difference in temperature made his lips feel like fire even though they were as warm as her own hand.

“Loki, huh.  That’s a…different name.”

She would have remembered it had they previously met.  Although, maybe a pseudonym had been involved; Loki was a name that stood out, after all.   _Wait_ , she thought,  _Loki…the weird caricature on the rock…_

“I’ve never heard of a woman named Reagan before, so I think we’re even.”

“…You’re not named after the guy on the rock over there, are you?”  Her skeptical expression was back on her face, but she tried to be a little playful, her lips forming a bit of a smile.

“Why, do I look like him?”  He grinned, joining in the joke.

“Hardly.  You’re missing the astounding mustache.”

“Good for twirling, I imagine.”  He pretended to curl a mustache and looked around suspiciously.

Reagan stifled her laughter, which initially caught the attention of a few other visitors; she earned herself a glare or two before she covered her mouth with her hands. 

Her eyes took in his face, remembering a specific part she had noticed on the rock carving.  The carving’s lips had been slashed vertically, with a mention of a myth in the description card below the case.  Reagan could have sworn she had seen little white dots above and below his lips.  They were there one second, gone the next, and then present again. 

 _Scars, maybe_? She thought.   _Or a trick of the light or mind?  Both?_

“So which piece is your favorite?” She asked, shifting and turning around on the bench so she faced the gallery with her back to the ship.

“I quite like many of them, especially the one over there.”  She watched as he gracefully managed to follow suit and face the same direction.  “The rooster.”

“I couldn’t tell that was a rooster at first,” she admitted.  “But there  _is_ something interesting about it.  The other pieces make sense-the jewelry, the deity statues, the ship-they show the culture of an ancient people.  The rooster…well…it goes over my head and I helped obtain some of the pieces.  Somehow I think I should have better connections with the history…”

“You work here, then?”

“No, no, I’m an assistant for an art dealer.  Sometimes we-that is, the firm I work for, are contacted to help look for pieces to be put together in certain exhibits outside of our galleries.  We interact directly with clients and run our own galleries but we’re also a middle-man.  Either way, many times I’m running around talking to people and seeing pieces before they’re completed or put on display.”

“Ah, a background player?”

“Yes.  I wish it gave me time to look into them more than just…the time period and style…”  Reagan trailed off, not sure of what else to say.  “Are you versed in Norse myth?”

“I know a little.”  His lips formed a crooked smile, as if he were accepting some unspoken challenge.  Reagan prompted him to continue with nod and a tilt of her head.  “The nine realms of Norse mythology are connected by the world tree Yggdrasil.  At the top of the branches, there was the rooster, Vidofnir.  He was said to be the watcher of the worlds, protector of moral integrity.  Sometimes a deity, sometimes not, depends on the translation, but he was highly respected nonetheless. He is mentioned in a few of the poems.”

Reagan nodded, shifting her gaze back to the rooster in its glass case.  Understanding the purpose of the rooster tied everything together for her.  She could see the majesty in the figure, however crude, imagine it standing proudly to watch over the people of an ancient village.

“What’s the thing under its wing, then?  A hilt of some kind?” She asked.

“Shouldn’t you know the answers to these questions?” He prompted back.

 “I supply pieces, not study them.  Long enough to let them speak to me, as most in this field do.”

 "A little research is hardly a bad thing, Ms. Reagan.”  He rose to leave, draping his coat over his arm.  “It has been wonderful, but I must be off.”

She was graced with a smile she was sure made the women in the room jealous.  Reagan stood up, perhaps a little too quick, and realized how tall he was.  She felt as if she were a child again.  “It was nice to meet you.”

Her habit came back, her hand extended again, as if this was one of her many meetings.  Ice-cold fingers grasped her hand gently and brought it to his lips again. “The pleasure was mine.”

Another jolt ran up her arm again, stronger than before.  It felt as though fire was racing through her veins, burning through her.  Reagan’s arm fell to her side as he let go, leaving her to watch his retreating figure.  A group of visitors blocked her field of vision for a moment; when the corridor was clear again, he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the last update for a little while; I'm starting college again this week and I may end up getting to editing and posting chapter 6, I might not. I'll gauge how my classes are and will try to make time when I can to write/edit/post more.  
> Thank you so much for reading and I'm glad it's being enjoyed.

Reagan had gone home some time later, consumed by her thoughts as a seed of nagging interest took root in her head. It was a curiosity for more than just knowledge to spew back when answering a question; it was deep and agonizing, like the suspense that kept the pages turning. This man, this…Loki— _who names their child after a Norse god?_ She thought—was strange, more than the eccentricity she was familiar with.

Her years of watching Doctor Who taught her coincidence couldn't always be just chance. How blind she had been to forget as such. If the man who nearly took over New York was back on Earth and toying with mortals, surely there was a reason other than boredom.

She thought of what she had heard over the years in the news. A billionaire becoming a hero; some supposed satellite crash in New Mexico and a town leveled by fire from a steel creature; Manhattan getting wrecked because of some alien invasion stopped by a group called The Avengers; Harlem broken a few years before by a green monster. Details were scarce beyond a certain point. No one had ever said who led the army of…whatever they were, the name was never released…or where the leader had went. They couldn't deny any of it happened, but the less the public knew, the better. Typical government.

Casey thought this would have been right up her alley; real-life action that only ever happened on the silver screen. Reagan shook her head and replied that it was a little too real as she stared at the wreckage, as contained as it was. She knew it happened, but it was as if it had happened long ago…

She walked in the door and up the stairs, dumping her bag and jacket on her bed before turning on her laptop. Reagan heard footsteps coming to the bottom of the stairs.

"Reag? You back?" Casey's voice rang up the corridor.

Pushing away from the desk, she got up and walked down the hall to the top of the stairs and leaned on the railing. Her house-mate was dressed in her pajamas, hair tied back and slippers on her feet.

"I went to the museum for a little while," she replied, shifting her weight. "I wanted to see some stuff before it got crowded and the enjoyment was sucked out."

Casey nodded, stretching out her arms and taking the ends of her sweatshirt sleeves into her hands and bunching them in her fists. "You just seemed in a bit of a tizzy when you came in, considering it's your day off. Usually you come in and plop onto the couch or something…"

"I'm fine. I just…met this guy there and…"

She received a seemingly all-knowing look, the one she thought died down after high-school. "Oh?"

The last thing she needed was Casey having the wrong impression. Damn.

Reagan's eyes widened at the implication of the other woman's words. "It's nothing. He just had a lot to say about the exhibit and it sparked an interest, that's all."

Casey raised an eyebrow, but didn't push the conversation further. If Reagan wanted to talk about it, she would. The dark haired woman gave a shrug that rolled off her shoulders; she clearly didn't want to.

"Water's hot if you want tea." The blonde said as she made her way back to the living room to continue her show.

Taking a breath, Reagan took up the idea of tea and went into the kitchen. A small but long space, white walls, cabinets with glass panels, and subway tile backsplash, the starkness was only broken up by the grey countertop and stainless steel appliances. The lighting in the back was terrible, so as cold as the room seemed, the white at least bounced around the light a little better. The exposed brick wall to the right divided the space for a breakfast nook with a niche of windows.

She took a mug from the cabinet and a tea bag from a canister, pulling another smaller canister to her for sugar. She made her cup, taking a sip of the milky and sugary substance before heading back up to her room.

Pouring over news sites on her laptop, she tried to find anything that gave details about the attack. Rarely did they have pictures of the leader or the attackers close up; more often than not, one of the heroes graced the cover pictures. She checked their sources and went into those.

Reagan came across conspiracy sites and a blurry picture of a man wearing a horned helmet. Another from a camera from Stuttgart, where some fancy party had been crashed, still blurry in resolution, but it looked similar to…

Her interest peaked and mind racing, she dared to read what the site had, for kicks if nothing else. Chitauri, something called the Tessarect, a man named…no. It couldn't be…

She printed out the crappy pictures and the information provided by the site, taking all of it with a grain of salt.

She attempted to look into the Avengers, search on anything related to them. Hour after hour, she poured over anything she thought might be useful. She felt like she was in college again, researching for her thesis. Casey had come up and brought her a sandwich when Reagan didn't respond to her calls from downstairs.

Many of her searches came to dead ends. Site blocked. Property of S.H.I.E.L.D. Access denied.

An emblem spun on her screen, a bird in flight with S.H.I.E.L.D spelled out below: Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.

Reagan sighed and pushed herself from the desk, staring at the screen in disbelief. It was as if the internet had been teasing her by letting her get this far and then shutting the door in her face.

The direct path was cut off. The second best thing to do would be find someone who was there in New York at the attack…

She scrambled about and grabbed the journal in which she kept anyone her firm had major contact with. Flipping through, she came across what she was looking for, transferring the number to her phone.

Reagan had never dealt with him personally; it was usually Pepper Potts who bought things with one of the other dealers her boss worked with. The infamous Mr. Stark was no-where to be found most of the time. It was a chance. A small one, but she might as well take it.

Reagan went back and printed out numerous articles, the block on her screen, things to perhaps be held as solid ground for her theory. She called up the head of security at the museum, and asked if it were possible for a duplicate to be made of surveillance tapes from that day at a certain time. If she had visual evidence to compare to the Stuttgart picture, her luck might be a little better.

This was just about him; she had not even dared to look into the statue they had discussed. Mythology would be too much right now; she needed to see who this man was first before she even dared thinking of doing anything he suggested.

And that…weird shock at the door…

Or was this all too…obsessive? Was she looking into something quite possibly not what she thought it was?

If it _was_ , if she exposed him to Stark, even if she got to him in the first place…wasn't that her duty, technically? This man was dangerous, nearly destroyed all of a famous city. He didn't seem dangerous today, quite nice in fact. What if it _wasn't_ who she thought it was and she brought it to the attention of the Avengers, if even possible? If it wasn't him, she wasted their time and the poor man who was brought in would be traumatized and under surveillance for the rest of his life.

Surely if the Avengers were so vigilant, they would know if this man had returned. Hell, in theory Thor would know before the others, judging from the information she had gathered mentioning they were from the same realm…

Reagan growled at her indecision and threw the papers down on her desk.

She heard footsteps ascending the stairs, Casey's usual soft steps stopping outside her door.

"Would you please come down and eat, Reagan? You've been up here for most of the day; you're supposed to be off, not researching like a crazed graduate student…" Casey seemed to be trying her best to not use her nurse tone, the infamous one with an undertone of I-know-what's-best-for-you-listen-to-me.

Reagan sighed, nodding her willingness to take a break and not look at all of this…nonsense. "Did they ever release the name of who lead the attack on New York?" She titled her head, trying to come off as inquisitive if nothing else.

"They only ever said it was an alien invasion; anything outside of who's who in this Avengers group was kept pretty quiet. It's all very…well, government secrets probably…" The blonde pulled her sleeves down again, and came over to Reagan, perching on her bed as she looked at the computer screen over her shoulder. "Why?"

"Just…hear me out for a second and judge my conclusion-jumping at the end. The guy from earlier knew a lot of about Norse mythology; his name was Loki, which could be sheer coincidence. One of the Avengers is supposedly named Thor. I looked into pictures of the attacks and this is the best shot I could get," she pulled out the blurry Stuttgart picture, "and I swear, Case, he looked just like this. I asked to get a copy of the surveillance of when I was there, which, of course, string-pulling and a bribe of coffee and donuts every time I came in for the next three months. Maybe if I can make a comparison…"

Casey took hold of Reagan's shoulders, looking her straight in the face. "I think you're a little over-worked. Does it sound plausible? Sure, maybe, but so does colonizing Mars and ending world hunger or something. Plausible but far more complicated than it looks. You're making connections that may not even be there. Besides, isn't it possible that the Avengers and the government would know if he came back? If he's so diabolical, they would know?"

"If he's Loki, who, by the way, is the supposed God of _Mischief_ , he could easily find a way to go undetected…"

Reagan trailed off and looked at Casey with wide eyes, begging for her to either believe her or not think she was crazy.

"You're reading far too into it, sweetie. You're defending your idea when you asked for a second opinion. He could be named Loki and look like him, but that doesn't mean it is him. You saw stuff related to his name and now you're making weird connections that probably have nothing to do with him."

Reagan sighed and Casey let go of her, rising and heading to the door. She didn't expect Casey to believe her but nor did she expect her to treat her like a patient, either.

"C'mon," her housemate gestured to the hall with a jerk of her head, "I made chicken."

Reagan rose and followed her back downstairs, wandering into the kitchen to be met with a lovely scent of delicious food. "You mean you 'ordered' chicken?" She said playfully. "It looks too good to be homemade…"

"No, I made it, Rea. Do you really doubt my cooking abilities?" Casey mimicked her tone and raised an eyebrow. Two could play that game.

"I doubt them when you try and consequently nearly burn the house down…" An oven mitt was slapped over her head. "Hey, I'm being truthful!"

Despite the welcome distraction of food, the thoughts of earlier that day crept back in her head as they sat in front of the television later. She got the sinking feeling sleep would not come easy tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely short, but this chapter was short to begin with. A filler with a look at Loki's plans.

It still surprised him on occasion how bright a city could be in the dead of night. True darkness didn't exist here. Someone, somewhere in the vast grid of metal and tar and smoke, was awake, regardless of the hour.

Loki wandered up to the roof of the hotel he resided in, searching for the stars supposedly above him. The damn city was too bright, the stars drowned out by light pollution. If he squinted, he could make out little flecks on the dark blanket of sky, but only just.

Smoke streamed out of the chimneys. Sirens sang in tune with each other. Night was cooler, biting, but the cold never bothered him anyway…

That woman, however, bothered him far too much.

She was the cause of this surge of magical energy, she _had_ to be. When near her, the nausea stopped entirely, the headache subsided, but a feeling of power remained within him. Something had been coming from her, too. He remembered the jolt of energy that passed through their hands when he kissed her knuckles. Such oddity never happened. Not with the maidens on Asgard, and certainly not with humans.

Her facial expressions were amusing. Almost endearing when she blushed, stumbled over her words about ponds and English and apologies. He sensed it was not a side of her she allowed many to see.

He needed to figure out just what was happening. Thus far, he seemed on the right track; it wouldn't be any ordinary human who would be the one to retrieve his sword, after all.

Only one day of peculiarity, a couple incidents on top of each other, meant nothing unless it happened again. For now, it was a lead, and that was good enough.

Fenrir would be necessary eventually. His nose was superb at finding magical sources; he could think of no one better to confirm his suspicions. Summoning him here would take a fair amount of magic, even for a short period of time. He needed discretion for it to work, especially after New York. He would cross the bridge of meeting his brother's posse again later, hopefully after obtaining his weapon.

Perhaps, in the meantime, he could play with her. Befriend her, startle her, watch her put the pieces together. If she could. He could, thus, keep tabs on her, too.

He needed a little amusement.


	7. Chapter 7

Reagan heard her boss on the other side of the window, keeping his demeanor and tone controlled and calm.  He was good at that; she would have bitten the woman’s head off and demanded their appointment stay at its previously agreed upon time.

She was meeting clients and seeing collections museums had interest in on their behalf.  They were grabbing a quick lunch, although it would be much longer, judging from the muffled conversation.  The whole day needed be rescheduled now to meet with these people but they had to cater to them.  A lot of their pieces and money had passed through the firm’s hands.  It was in the best interest to just keep them…happy.

The restaurant was busy, despite being the middle of the week and its usual higher-end clientele.  Sunlight trickled in from the skylight, hitting the gilded and refurbished pieces throughout the room.  It was a time-warp to a century long passed, where women wore heavy dresses and men walked around in tails, traveling in carriages. 

Her boss, Arthur Carlisle, came back in as a frown of annoyance crossed his face.  His phone clattered on the table in a careless motion as he sat and pulled his napkin back across his lap, the soup and coffee now cold.  He gestured to the waiter standing attentive in the corner and was promised hot and fresh portions as they were removed.

“I take it they needed another three hours to fit us?”  Reagan’s tone was playful but frustrated as she plucked a piece of pasta covered in Bolognese sauce from her dish.

“Merely two this time,” Carlisle sipped his water. “Perhaps they’ll learn to keep appointment times one day, but I seriously doubt it.  I would love to get my hands on their original Botticelli, so I’ll play nice.”

The waiter came back, slipping a much-larger bowl of soup and a steaming coffee in front of the guest. 

Three days has passed since the encounter at the museum.  Three days since she came across skeptical pictures and information.  No government agent knocked on her door, her computer was still in the apartment.  So far.  She had the file on her, sandwiched between her work tablet and a catalogue of events.

She inwardly groaned at the thought of the Natural History Meseum’s gala, knowing she would have to attend and memorize a list of guests.  Stark was likely on the roster, or Miss Potts in his place; if she did not get the chance to make an impression before, the gala was the time to do so. 

“I wanted to ask,” Reagan said as her boss finished his meal, “if Pepper Potts inquired about any new pieces.  I remember her asking us to keep an eye out for a…Vermeer, was it?”

Carlisle placed his napkin back on the table, signaling to the waiter he was finished. 

“Lana already lined up; she found one for sale at Christie’s while she was in London and she’s already shown it.  Due to be delivered within the week.” 

“Would I be able to do it?  Deliver it, that is?”  She knew not to push too hard on certain matters with him; he usually wanted the person who showed the painting to deliver it, if possible. 

“This isn’t some infatuation with Stark, is it?” 

“No,” she replied, hoping her brain was quick enough to think of a cover.  “I only wanted a chance to handle one of our higher clients, and delivery, I thought, would be the easiest way to experience that.”

“Reagan, you know I prefer it be the same person showing and delivering paintings.  It has a lot more to do with  _knowing_ what the painting should look like and the client’s expectations and their trust in us, et cetera.”  He rested his chin on laced fingers, elbows propped up on the table.  “I know if I stuck you out with a client and a portfolio of our collection, you’d be able to find them something they’d enjoy.  I wasn’t aware you were unhappy with your position.”

Now she hoped she could keep her expressions under control; she remembered the odd face she made the other day and the look she received back.  She relaxed her face, trying to keep her eyes from becoming the size of saucers. 

“I’m not, not at all.  I’m not asking for a raise or anything, I like where I am; I get a little of everything.  I just wanted to try and do a deal on my own, I guess.”

Not wholly a lie.  Not wholly the truth, either. 

He settled back in his chair, looking a little proud.  “I’m more than willing to let you try.  But we’ll start with a more familiar person first, not leap straight to the top.”

She gave a smile and tried not to look annoyed as her resolved in her plan crumbled.  Maybe it was a little too obsessive, especially if she didn’t know everything...

* * *

They met again at the same coffee shop, a week after the museum.  Pure accident, she thought, at least at first.

Reagan was reading the paper, looking through notes and schedules on her tablet as she sipped her coffee and ate her bagel.  She was absorbed in her work, trying to straighten out what the hell had happened to her email, nearly filled to the brim with unread messages from dozens of people. 

_This stupid party better be worth the money we’re spending_ , she mused.  _We might need more clients but we need money to do what they hire us for…_

Black coffee, a muffin, and bowl of fresh fruit caught her line of sight as they were placed on the table.  She hadn’t even looked up before he spoke and then realized she didn’t have to.  That voice was practically ingrained in her mind now.

“Is this seat taken?”

Loki offered her a friendly smile; in the corner of her eye, she saw the girl behind the counter glaring daggers at her.  She returned the smile and gestured to the space across from her, moving her belongings.

She let the doubt sit in her mind, so she would not jump to conclusions and keep a level head.  Casey had a point.  She considered her options and decided skeptical was good for the time being.  She was no stranger to multiple interpretations, after all.

“She seems to like doing that a lot to female patrons,” Loki mused, having noticed the young girl.  He looked directly at her with a questioning gaze before she scampered back to the kitchen to hide.  “Quite rude, but no sense in making a scene.”

“I’m guessing you’re used to that attention, then?  Girls fawning over you.”  Reagan folded the newspaper and tucked it into her bag. 

“I wouldn’t say ‘used to it’.  The women I’m used to never looked twice in my direction unless they needed something.”

“Oh, please, you’re quite aware of charms.  You watched me stammer my way through an apology last week,” she sat back in the wooden chair and watched him stab a piece of fruit, “which…hasn’t happened in years, since I started my job and Arthur found me freaking out and profusely apologizing for booking lunch at the wrong place.  She’s young but harmless, smitten as she may be.” 

If she could keep her professional wall up, she’d be fine.  She’d get through this and think nothing else of it. 

“And you aren’t?” The tone was playful, as if they had been friends for years instead of acquaintances for a mere few days.  

“No, I can’t say I am.”  She tried to sound lighthearted but it came out harder than she expected, colder.  “I was more shocked at your mannerisms and my own rudeness.”

He raised his eyebrows briefly as he looked down at his breakfast.  “Fair enough.”   

A constant tingle sat at the base of her spine, the moment right before a bad chill.  The relief of the sensation never came and the room was quite warm.  She tensed in hopes to control it should a shiver decide to run through her.  Reagan looked back at her tablet to finish some work.  She felt his eyes on her as one hand flew across the flat surface, tapping and sliding things, the other bringing food to her mouth.

“If you’re working on something, I did not mean to intrude.  I can find another table.” He said, a moment of silence passing between them. 

“No, please, I’m nearly done.  I didn’t mean to sound that way.  It’s been a long week that never seems to end, I’m sorry.” 

Apologizing again.  She wondered if she did it just to get the air to feel clearer.  Words once with meaning and regret behind them now just a social tool to get away with sounding terrible.

“What  _are_ you working on, anyway?  If I can ask?”

“Schedules and emails.  Making sure everything’s in order for this week.”  She wasn’t paying attention to the email she was skimming about catering prices.  Reagan sighed before forwarding it to Carlisle.  “We have a party to sort out in the next few weeks.”

A flicker of frustration crossed her face at the mention of the occasion, a corner of her mouth turning down for a moment.  “You don’t seem too enthused for it,” Loki said, taking a sip of his black and bitter choice of drink. 

“It’s different when you’re planning and making sure everything and everyone will be there.” 

Reagan checked an email from a client, asking about the guest list and food options for those with allergies.  She let a breath out of her nose as she read the condescension in each word.  “I’ve been in this position for several years now, it’s a wonder some of our clients treat me like I’m a poor intern who knows nothing,” she muttered.  She didn’t even finish before forwarding that one, too. 

She turned the device off, deciding to go through the rest of it later when she could complain to Carlisle and go through everything once instead.  The feeling in her spine crept up and up, all the way to her neck.  She tensed again up to make sure her body didn’t shudder. 

Reagan looked at him, actually looked at him, for the first time since he sat down.  He was partially facing the window with his eyes aimed at something but his focus elsewhere, green eyes glazed over in thought.  He was dressed as he had been the previous weekend, in a suit jacket, shirt, tie, and jeans.  She wondered what had his thoughts in such a heavy grasp. 

He was attractive, certainly, she’d never deny that.  She brought up his potential connection as the God of Mischief to keep her thoughts in balance.  The silence was nice, comfortable to some degree.  She didn’t mind it. 

Light caught his face in just the right way, causing her to catch sight of dots of scar-tissue around his mouth.  Words flew from her lips before she even registered she spoke.

“Can I ask you a question?”  She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, lacking a better place to put them.

Loki gave a soft laugh, bringing his attention back to her.  “I believe you just did.  But yes, you may.”

“Am I seeing things or are there scars around your mouth?”

Her face bared an expression of confusion and doubt rather than revulsion, clearly not what he had been expecting.      

“It’s nothing,” he replied.  “I had a…fight when I was younger,” he took a swig of his coffee, draining the cup. 

She nodded, accepting his answer before looking down.  Relief washed over her but she didn’t relax, her back straight and stiff.  She followed suit and finished her coffee before gathering her garbage in a small pile to get ready to head out into the chilly morning.  She turned to put her tablet in her bag and looked back to find Loki had collected the pile and thrown it out in the bin not far behind their table. 

“Are you free later this evening?”  He asked, brushing off his sleeves and buttoning his suit jacket.

Reagan was caught off-guard, her eyes widening in confusion as she slipped on her jacket and pulled her bag onto her shoulder.  She did want to confirm the thoughts she had.  Yet, if they turned out true, she could be in danger. 

The only way was to get to know him if she didn’t want to make a scene and involve numerous people.  Laundry and cleaning had to be done, she was going to look at dresses with Casey; she had saved up and a girl at the firm had gotten her private appointment to find an in-season dress. 

“I have household stuff and errands, but yes, I am.” 

“Would you care for a walk?  The leaves are wonderful around here, despite the urbanity they’re in.”  He gave her that smile again and she found herself disarmed.  Damn him.

Reagan gave a small smile in return and nodded.  “Sounds nice.”

They discussed a time and to meet at the north entrance to the park.  She missed enjoying the colors of fall as she did as a child.  The day was still early; she could get a lot done if she kept on track.  They parted on the sidewalk, a kiss from cold lips on the top of her hand again, icy fingers leaving a burning sensation on her skin.

* * *

 

Loki walked back to his hotel room, thoughts racing.  Things were starting to come together.  So it seemed, at least.

He thought the glamour he used would hide those stupid dots.  He did see her tense up several times.  She felt something, just as he did felt fire and magic searing through him.  With the extra energy, with the magic charge coursing in his veins, perhaps his glamour flickered around her.  Too much power with nowhere to go.

She would, thus, catch glimpses of his true self, especially if this contact continued.  If she even was the one he needed.  Finding the mortal was easy enough compared to what came after, despite spending months hunting and moving around.

Convincing the person was the hard part.  Mortals didn’t believe in magic and other realms.  Those that did were not considered sane.  The realization their world was not the only one and giving evidence of such was heavy for simple creatures.  Not everyone was capable.

He could not risk telling her until he was absolutely sure.  He’d spend the evening with her and then decide to use Fenrir to test her.  Loki could not afford to wait either.  Not if someone else was trying to accomplish the same task he was, not if they were working for Thanos or someone else. 

The rooster was key, so very necessary.  If the party she was talking about was to happen there, he could foresee an issue or two.  Chitauri wouldn’t care how many people were hurt.  SHIELD would be attracted like a moth to a flame. 

_He_ needed it a lot more than anyone else.  If he wanted to get back into Asgardian graces, he needed the rooster to get the sickle.  Trade the sickle to the true Vidofnir and receive the tailfather to then give to Sinmara, his dear daughter.  Commonly known as Hela.

He gate-crashed a couple of parties to achieve his ends before, what was one more?  Unless she invited him, of course.  Easier, less troublesome.  If she was his mortal, logically, he should be there to protect her and make sure the rooster was safe.

For now, however, he would focus on finding weak spots between the realms and thinking of clever replies and questions of his own for later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reagan's boss is loosely based on a character with the same last name in Downton Abbey. I'm weirdly attached to him but he won't show up terribly often, especially later. She will eventually meet all of the Avengers. An appearance of Tony in the next couple of chapters is probably is order at the gala.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I'll try and edit and update when I can. I have a pile of homework calling me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s in Loki’s point of view, to get the other side a bit. 
> 
> The tale of Thor’s hammer being stolen is a myth, but some parts were added to it (Loki’s little bribe to get Freyja’s cloak, for instance, and I tried to make it seem more like a rich memory). I used timelessmyths.com as a source for the myth. I was hoping this would be shorter and then I could put more in here, but I think it works well.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

He arrived early enough to scope out the volume of people and direction of the paths. Not as full as he expected, likely due to the grey clouds that rolled in earlier. Loki turned the collar of his jacket up against a light wind, leaves rustling and scraping on the pavement. 

This meeting would be the last. If she was not responsive, offered nothing remarkable enough to keep his attention, he would make tracks and head elsewhere. It was the longest he had stayed in one place. He knew magic tricks could only last so long. He was not keen on being caught. 

He found himself wondering again about the silent jolt of energy between their hands, her doubt of her perception. She had to have been slightly intrigued by the statue of the rooster; she outright asked if it was a hilt under its wing. 

If tonight went the way it needed to, he knew the closest gap in reality to call Fenrir to tail her home. 

He caught a glimpse of her as he turned his head, coming from his right. She still wore her outfit from this morning, a ruffled blouse and jacket with jeans and leather boots. Her pace was a little faster than the usual pedestrian’s gait; she was determined to make it on time.

“You beat me here,” Reagan said, “I got here early and you beat me here.” Her tone was an attempt to be light-hearted, he noticed, her face was slightly more animated. He could call her attitude casual, even. He had only seen and talked to her when she was in her element, assuming the role she knew.

“I wanted to see who else shared my idea, which doesn’t seem to be many,” Loki replied. “But I suppose the sky is to blame.” He was going to offer his arm to her, but rethought it; he wasn’t escorting her anywhere, and did not wish to give the mortal a wrong impression. Instead, he gestured forward with his right hand, and they followed the path under the brick and iron arch. 

Reagan shrugged. “Could be. Sundays are slower days, even though the city never sleeps. A lot of people spend the nights with family. Religious Sabbath for some.”

The trees on either side of the path, large and dominating, reached up and formed a canopy of burning reds, bright oranges, and stunning golden yellows. What little sunlight making it through the light grey clouds trickled down through the leaves. Everything else de-saturated for the sake of the hues around them.

“The sky might be to blame, but I always liked cloudy days in autumn. The atmosphere seems to only brighten autumn’s colors.” Reagan said, breaking the silence for a moment. 

She picked up a fair-size bright red and orange leaf, twirling it between her thumb and forefinger as they walked. She continued, “I grew up in a rural area, and I always got to see the trees turn. Sometimes the mountainsides looked as if they could be on fire.” 

Loki recalled Asgard at the turn of the season, when summer gave way to the decadence of autumn. The leaves lost their green hues, much as they did on Midgard and when the wind blew, they reflected the light, as if made of metal. He recalled the feasts and celebrations he was forced to endure. 

“Have you taken up my suggestion and done some research on your artifacts?” He shoved his hands in his coat pockets as another light wind passed by.

“…Sort of.” She replied; not a lie, he was good at finding those. “Into the mythology of the culture, a tiny bit.” 

Loki turned his head to her, finding her focused on the trees to their right, head tilted up a little. 

“I _did_ look into the gods and goddesses. Into your name…name-sake,” she caught herself, he noticed; she was going to stop at ‘name’. She had researched _something_ , but he wondered how much of it truly had to do with the Norse culture.

“Oh?” He was well-versed in the mortals’ myths, especially of him. Skewed and not entirely accurate, but truth existed in parts of them. 

“It seems as though when the gods couldn’t find a solution to a problem, Loki was blamed for it. The building of the wall, for instance; he was blamed for the builder’s pace because he convinced the gods to let the builder keep his horse, and was forced to find a way to hinder him so he didn’t get paid. Even though they, collectively, were the ones who agreed to the builder’s choice of payment—another goddess, right? —They were at fault as much as he was, but he was the one who had to solve the problem, because in their eyes, he started it. Hence…” she give a small sweeping gesture with her left hand, in his direction.

“Sleipnir.”

She nodded. “I haven’t had time to read any of the actual myths, just summaries and commentaries.”

Loki couldn’t help but smirk to himself; she had barely scratched the surface of the stories and escapades the mortals told. Perhaps he could tell her something from personal experience, something that was intertwined with a myth enough she could find it, twist it subtly enough to hook her doubt again.

“Thor’s hammer was stolen once, you know,” he began.

She turned her head, eyebrows furled in confusion. “But no one can lift it but him.”

“Mythology is not known for its concrete logic, Miss Reagan.” He recalled the memories of that day, back when he was considered a prince and heir to Asgard. It had occurred before the enchantment Odin had placed on the hammer during Thor’s short banishment. Back then, anyone strong enough was able to lift Mjolnir.

They made eye contact, Reagan’s face showing her eagerness to hear a story, eyes wide with a thirst for knowledge. She gave a little nod and said, “Well? Go on.”

Loki gave a smirk but complied as they walked.

“Mjolnir had been stolen from right under Thor’s nose; he probably kept the thing at his bedside. The thunder god, not knowing what to do, sought Loki for help. One of the goddesses, Freyja, had a wonderful feathered cloak-it was enchanted and allowed her to turn into a falcon and fly at will. Loki asked to borrow it, with a bribe of not telling her brother what she truly used it for, and flew to Jotunheim, home of the Frost Giants or Jotuns. Jotunheim was…dark, eerie, and freezing. Spires of ice and snow, the occasional frozen figure of an adventurer who took a wrong turn. Loki discovered it was Thrym, the then-leader of the Jotuns who was brave enough to steal and hide the hammer. The giant towered over the trickster who dared confront him, his blue skin tinged orange from firelight and red eyes glowing. Thrym bargained he would only return the hammer if he could marry Frejya…”

They came to a bridge and stopped halfway across. The stream beneath them teamed with fallen leaves, some already turning brown and full of holes from hungry insects. Reagan leaned her elbows on the stone railing, a casual movement he mirrored before continuing.

“Loki returned to Asgard under the guise of a falcon, and by this time Odin the Allfather and the other gods had heard about the incident. He told of Thrym’s demand for Freyja’s hand, and, of course, she refused.”

“Can’t blame her there.” Reagan murmured.

“She had shared the bed of various men and creatures-it was amusing to her face distort in disgust at the idea of even being in the same room as a Jotun. Her unwillingness turned the gears in the mind of the Gatekeeper, Heimdall. He suggested Thor go to Jotunheim dressed as Freyja in bridal regalia. Loki insisted the idea would work and volunteered to accompany the god as a bridesmaid.   
“Thor was hardly pleased with the idea of dressing as a woman and taking a subtle approach to regaining his hammer. He was dressed in a gown and headdress, and nearly looked the part until Freyja reluctantly handed over her necklace, _Brisingamen_ , to complete the disguise. She was known by that piece of jewelry, her…signature, as it were. 

“Loki and Thor returned to Jotunheim, where Thrym welcomed his new ‘bride’ and demanded a feast be set in ‘her’ honor. Thor ate an entire ox, eight salmon, and polished it off with three large helpings of mead.” Loki remembered Thor in the vast, dark dining hall, dressed in a regal gown and wearing Freyja’s necklace, veil dotted with grease from food. Thrym glared at Loki, also dressed in a gown, wondering how this woman could eat in such a fashion. 

He turned his head towards Reagan to see her piecing the story together, brows furled slightly. 

“Thrym was curious to know how his bride could eat so much. Loki replied she was so excited to be married she had not eaten in eight days. When the giant attempted to kiss her under the veil, he was shocked at the intense gaze staring back at him from her red eyes. Loki’s excuse was again, her excitement; she had not slept in eight days— ”

“He knew, didn’t he? That it wasn’t really her?” She sent a skeptical look in his direction, her tone confident. 

“Now, Reagan, if I told you, it would ruin the rest of the tale,” Loki chided. 

“Sorry.”

He swallowed and continued. “Now, a giantess came into the dining hall, Thrym’s sister. She demanded “Freyja” hand over a gold ring if she truly wished to marry her brother. Thor countered, in his best feminine voice, he would only agree if Mjolnir was placed onto his lap. With his hammer back, Thor killed all of the frost giants who wronged him and the two fled back to Asgard.” 

Silence grew between them, the rest of the world muffled as if the two of them were in a bubble until reality came back and the sounds of the city interrupted. He had been lost in his memories, retrieving them, and she was lost in his words, if only for a few minutes. 

She listened, not to mention her eagerness for such an old tale was encouraging. So very encouraging.

He never wanted to discuss himself in the third person like that again.

Reagan was quiet, moving her jaw every few seconds as if she had something to say but kept deciding against it. Good. He would not have to put up with stupid questions, at least not yet.

He broke the silence before she had the chance, standing straight again and giving a playful smile. “The next time we meet, perhaps here in a couple of days, it’s your turn to tell a story.”

She nodded, turning her head to face him. “Deal.” 

Loki noticed she seemed to be slightly preoccupied, handling his request with a straight-face to match to his smile. As they started walking onwards, he offered the crook of his elbow, which was hesitantly accepted. He felt the veins in his arm burn after the faint jolt passed through his jacket. She tapped her fingers in a rhythm of thumb to pinkie, as if playing a piano or testing them to see if they worked. Perhaps she had pins-and-needles, a sensation of having lost circulation in her hand…

He was caught looking down a little too long. 

“Sorry, happens sometimes, my circulation isn’t great. Probably dehydrated.” She explained, stopping the movement before changing the subject. 

“Has anyone ever mentioned you’re good at telling stories?” Reagan asked, twirling the leaf she still held with a little less enthusiasm than before. “I felt as if I was there, watching it unfold. The details you put in…” 

Another smile accompanied his reply. “So I’ve been told. Or a variation of it; often it’s simply I have a way with words—”

Reagan’s sudden movement cut him off, the warm energy surge vanishing as she took her hand away to answer the vibrate device in her jacket. Her mouth dipped into a slight frown, worry and annoyance crossing her face for a brief moment before she slid her finger across the glossy surface and she spoke into the little box. 

He pretended to tune out the conversation, something about double checking to make sure the invitations were correct and the list of invitees wasn’t messed up by the interns and complete before both got sent to the printers tomorrow morning. Her boss, then. She sighed, admitting she would help in exchange for leftover dessert and that she wasn’t far from his townhouse. 

After hanging up, she tucked the phone back in her pocket, apologizing for the interruption. “I have to go finish up something with my boss—checklist and invite designs, boring stuff—but I’ll stick to my word. I’ll be the one telling the myth next time.” 

She stuck out her hand again, the gesture more relaxed than previously. He took it, wondering if the difference in temperature was as obvious to her as it was to him, especially by now, and brushed her knuckles with ice-cold lips.

“And I’ll be the one to tell you how accurate your choice of translation is.” 

She was about to turn and leave, but a look of sudden recollection came across her features. Reagan patted her pockets until she found what she was looking for. She stared at it for a moment, hesitating before offering it. A mere slip of paper with her email and phone number on it. 

“We can actually plan the next meeting a little ahead of time.” She said as he took it and looked at the neat handwriting. 

He glanced at her to find no trace of flirtation or shyness in her face. Mere professional attitude, although a little warmer than what Black Widow had given him back on the helicarrier.

“Until then,” she said with a small smile and a nod, before walking past him and quickening her pace. 

He would follow her and then call Fenrir in a short while. 

She was eager to know things beyond Midgard, and he could see her doubt slowly vanishing. He could deal with the questions she offered, his explanations carefully arranged. That is, assuming her sanity remained intact after an encounter with a giant wolf. If not…then she was not the one he needed. 

Pocketing the slip of paper, he used the little surge of magic to increase his glamour and make himself essentially invisible and began to tail her to her destination.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is actually the last part that's fully written; I now have to find the time to write new content.
> 
> Forewarning, some swears are thrown in here but they're scarce.

Dirty plates littered the dark wood coffee table, accompanied by two wine glasses, one still bearing its burgundy contents.  Papers were strewn all over, full of patterns of text in varying fonts and colors screaming the height of sophistication. 

Reagan cracked her toes by folding and pressing them to the floor.  They’d been at this for hours now, finalizing guest lists and invitation designs.  She stood and tried to get the kink out of her neck, stretching her arms to get any semblance of feeling back through her body. 

She had made it here in a daze, her hand burning.  Not a typical response from holding someone’s forearm.  The reaction wasn’t normal,  _he_ wasn’t normal, nothing about her encounters with him was normal.  She was used to weird and strange being outside of her, around her but not a part of her.  Carlisle had noticed but muttered something about her hopefully not developing a fever. 

Her boss returned with two steaming mugs of coffee-ironic, she thought, him getting her coffee.

“Nearly done.  A few more pages between us, and we can email it to the printer and have them sent out this week…”  She was attempting to be optimistic, and wished the procrastination had ended when she left college and got to the real world.  If they got everything done by eleven, it’d be a miracle.

They sat back down and got to work.  More papers were shuffled, reorganized between finished and not.  Four full pages each, and they could be done.

Reagan sipped her coffee, savoring the warmth it provided while it lasted.  Tonight was chilly, and she wouldn’t have minded burning hands in the brisk winds on her walk home.  Her hands had since dropped back to their normal temperature, but with such an absence of heat they felt colder than they actually were and the coffee felt hotter than it actually was. 

A radio station played in the background, providing a backdrop of classic rock to motivate them.  Pens scratched paper, keyboard keys clicked, fingers met porcelain and lips found caffeine.  The sounds of productivity.  In what felt like no time and an eternity at once, they were finished and the email drafted and sent.  Catering and music were worries for another night.

She rubbed her eyes, reluctant to move—her mind screamed to get going, her body protested to even a slight shift.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?  I can get you a cab.”  Her boss spoke as he gathered the dishes and glassware.  “You know you’re more than welcome to stay.” 

“It’s a twenty minute walk, I’ll be fine.  But thank you.”  He vanished into the kitchen to set the dishes in the sink and came back to walk her to the door.

They both knew the only reason such words were uttered was out of concern.  She always made sure everything ran smoothly, and he once said the least he could do was watch out for her like she did for him.

She slipped on her boots and jacket, and made sure she had her phone and keys in her pockets as he returned to walk her to the door.

“Then text me when you get in.”

Reagan nodded.  They said their goodnights and she left the warmth for the chilly of the evening.

* * *

Loki had found himself a nice rooftop spot across the street, a building at a diagonal offering a view of the front sitting room.  He knew they would be there for a while; he recalled Frigga spending months on preparations for festive events, ladies-in-waiting devoting themselves to such tasks as Reagan was working on. 

A hole between the worlds was not terribly far-it had been fairly close at the park earlier, but closer at the museum.  He blamed the collection of artifacts being placed so closely together; pressure in a bottle. 

Loki needed the magic he had left to open the portal, sneak Fenrir out and back in again, and potentially protect her in the process if the wolf got too excited.  Such efforts would nearly wipe out the rest of the energy Reagan’s interaction caused and then some; a lot more than he would like. 

Not to mention chances were Thor’s little buddies and their agency would be looking for weird things going on.  He’d worry about that later. 

Back-tracking on foot meant time, but Loki assessed he had plenty of it.  Fastening his jacket, he descended the building by leaping over the wall at the edge, and landing neatly on two feet below. 

He reached the area where the dimensional barriers were their weakest, where the air rippled and smelled only slightly different than the refuse and grunge of the alley it stood in.  The brick wall shimmered, at least to him, and he peered around to find no one.  World-hopping wasn’t easy, and he had mastered it because of his mother’s devotion to his magical skill. 

“If it was easy, everyone would do it.”  He muttered, raising a gloved hand to bend the magic to his will, fixing his destination to the outskirts of Asgard.  He took a few steps back and leaped at the wall, his figure disappearing as the force whipped around a few stray newspapers left behind.

* * *

The night was quiet, except for the occasional bird crying out into darkness.  Torchlight in the distance gave away where they had placed the large creature, a precaution for wandering visitors. 

Loki glanced up through the bare tree branches, catching dark wings on an even darker sky; not Odin’s ravens.  They did come out this way now and then, and while Odin had charged him with this task, it didn’t mean he was welcome to go to whatever means he had for help.

Fenrir was a massive wolf, paws the size of the All-Father’s throne and a jaw with unfathomable strength.  Well, except to his leash.  The strongest tether known in the nine realms.  The world was relaxed, seemingly asleep, ears twitching at every sound.

Loki crossed the threshold of torches into the open circle, grass glazed in frost beneath his feet.  A yellow eye flicked open at the presence of another, resting on its creator.

“Father…” A gravely voice, one he hadn’t heard in several centuries.  “What business have you here?  If the All-Father…”

“He will understand; I need your help.”  Loki kept his tone even-Fenrir was easily upset when it came to him and his “siblings”, especially after Odin had banished them.

“What good can I be to you, chained here?  You smell…like mortal, like my thunderous uncle when he returns from Midgard.”  A huff escaped his nose in disgust.

“This is why I need you.  Your nose is fantastically good at differentiating scents I cannot.”

Loki had wandered to the stake that held the chain before it dove underground into the deep earth.  “I cannot rid you of your chain-only the All-Father can do that.  I  _can_ do this.” 

His hands grasped the chain before the stake and pulled, the metal ripping up dirt and grass as it broke the surface.  The end was embedded into a large boulder by the dwarves that made the chain-Fenrir was forever tethered, the chain unbreakable but malleable to magic.  One wave of his hand and the links shortened and thinned, the boulder becoming a more manageable sized rock to be carried in his hand.

“I repeat, what good can I do chained?”  Fenrir was far from happy at still being tethered, forever a prisoner. 

“Plenty, as I did when my lips were sewn.”  Loki held the collar, also unbreakable, and pet the wolf’s snout.  “I can never free you, but you will fulfill that anger one day.  I promise you that.”

Fenrir moved his head and placed it next to Loki’s, like he used to when he was a pup. 

“Come, let’s get moving.”

* * *

Reagan buried her head in her scarf, pulling it over her mouth to protect against the chilly air.  She was halfway home, her fingers curled in her pockets.  Why didn’t she take up the offer for a taxi?  That would have been a smarter choice. 

A strong gust of wind rushed past her, stopping her in her tracks.  Reagan looked up to see what caused it, thinking it was an idiotic driver. 

The growl that came from the hulking mass of shadow made her rethink that idea.  A giant wolf, larger than the SUV next to it, huffing from the sprint, stared at her.  Yellow eyes seemed to glow in the dim streetlights, and grey fur rippled. 

One word came to her mind, one she had heard uttered on her favorite show for years, one she thought she had forgotten in college gym.  Run.

She heard the creature sniffing, and a louder growl followed.  Rhythmic pounding came after, much louder than the heartbeat in her ears. 

Shit.  Where was S.H.I.E.LD?  Didn’t they have a handle on this kind of thing? 

Reagan ran, her lungs burning, as if oxygen had suddenly become toxic yet so very necessary.   A stitch had formed in her side, but she had began to stop feeling it.  Her legs desperately wanted to give out beneath her.  She had gone in the opposite direction of home, the creature having stood in her way.  Not that she  _could_ go home with a giant wolf chasing her, that’d be stupid.  The entire thing was stupid, insane.  Her mind wanted to answer why, but it couldn’t.  She rationalized it was because it had seen here, but it was searching.  Searching for what…?

“Damn,” she hissed, seeing the lights ahead of her a few blocks down.  .  If she continued much farther, she’d be on the edge of downtown, and that was packed regardless of the day of the week.  She couldn’t endanger other people

Alley.  Find an alley.  Loose the weird-ass lab experiment and get the hell away.

Reagan darted to the left, dirty brick and graffiti surrounding her.  Instantly she regretted her decision.  A closed space?  No one would find her for days.  Fire escape, find a way to get above.  The thing can’t fly, as far as she knew.

A ladder and the rest of the scaffolding for a fire escape laid to her right, and she scrambled to pull the ladder down, the metal clattering and ringing as it slide to the ground.  Too much noise, she realized, but too late as well.

The light from the street was blocked by the creature, sniffing around.  Its head snapped up, making eye contact again. 

_So that’s what death looks like_ , she thought. 

Reagan climbed the ladder and had begun ascending the second set of stairs before the metal was torn down by a massive paw.  The landing tumbled to the pavement, leaving her clinging to the stairs, as if dangling from a rope. 

Her heart had never worked this hard before.  The monster closed in, reaching its snout up to smell her.  It reeled back in revulsion, shaking its head and huffing to rid its nostrils of whatever it had smelled. 

She found herself slightly offended at being found to be disgusting.  The paw came out again, and this time nudged the stairway, swinging it back and forth.  Closer to that gaping maw with rotting breath. 

_What a way to go, eaten by a giant wolf in an alley_ , she thought.   _No big deal._

Instinct told her to curl up, become as small as she could, not look at those yellow eyes and yellowing teeth. 

She opened her eyes just once as a paw went to swipe at her; something impeded the contact.  A barrier shimmered at being touched, a radiant flow of energy showing itself for a moment and then vanished. 

The beast sniffed, made a disgusting sound passing for a gag before backing away.  It sniffed again, looking up.  Reagan followed its line of sight and caught a glimpse of a figure in a long coat turn heel and disappear.

She watched the creature dissolve into the shadows.  It cast an eerie, golden glare in her direction before being swallowed entirely and vanishing.

Shaking, Regan climbed down the remainder of the stairs, hoping it would not collapse and drop her to the ground.  She caught her breath, unaware she had been holding it. 

_Cabs are good, next time…take a cab_ , were her last thoughts before the world spun around her and everything went dark.

* * *

Loki returned to ground level, and peered down at the woman currently passed out, a tiny string of saliva forming in the corner of her mouth.  She was mumbling occasionally, and he can’t imagine he had done any good to her sanity.

She hadn’t screamed though, he gave her props for that.

He took her hand, feeling an energy surge stronger than ever.  Her encounter had stirred up whatever flowed through her veins, and reacted with him.  It was much harder to let go, like strong magnets.  Magic was calling to magic, and he found himself wondering if that was how Thor found his mortal. 

No, Thor fell in love with her.  A very strong difference from a magical bond calling out and being completed.  She was a means to an end, not a companion. 

He reached into her mind, her memories, and searched for a location to her home.  He could not leave her here.  People would notice her disappearance, and she should have been home by now anyway.

“Come, Fenrir.”  Loki let go of her hand, feeling the scalding warmth of her flesh leave his strangely cold, even for a Jotun. 

The wolf stuck his head back out of the shadow he had been placed in.

“All the way.  We have something to do first.”

He gave a frustrated huff, but wiggled out of the darkness.  The hulking mass of an animal was shrunk to the size of a pup, the tether becoming a nice leash. 

“She has to go home.  People will miss her.”

Slipping the leash’s handle around his wrist, Loki knelt down and picked Reagan up, cradling her.  Her head rolled and rested against his chest.  She had rings under her eyes, he hadn’t seen that before. 

He looked around before imagining her street and opening a small portal, arriving in an alley much closer to her townhouse. 

* * *

Loki looked around, and seeing no one, approached the stairs and door with false hesitation.  He acted…human, as much as he knew how to.  He whispered to Fenrir, the now-tiny wolf hopping up the three stairs after him.  His elbow tapped the button by the door and created a noise inside. 

“Reagan, is that you?”  A woman opened the door, wearing scrubs and slippers.  “Did you forget your…”  She saw Reagan’s sleeping form and looked up at Loki, her tone from playful to angry concern in a split-second.  “What happened to her?”

“She fell asleep on the cab-ride over, I didn’t want to wake her.” 

“Are you a friend of her’s?”

Loki mentally rolled his eyes.  Of course she’d have a house-mate, and she’d be wonderfully annoying and paranoid. 

“We met a few times.  I was out walking my dog and ran into her.  She seemed tired, and mentioned working late on a project; I thought I would get her a cab and make sure she got in alright.”

With Reagan so close to him, his magic was coming back to him again.  He influenced her house-mate just enough to believe him, and let him inside.  She moved aside and he stepped in, Fenrir scuttling after him. 

“It’s the one straight down the hall, at the end.”  She pointed up the stairs, and watched him take her friend upstairs who was mumbling incoherently. 

Loki peered around the small room for a moment, laying her on the bed against the wall.  He examined her boots and unzipped them, placing them by the closet doors.  Her jacket came next, at least to make her a little more comfortable, pockets heaving with her phone and keys. 

He took out the little black box and pressed the center button, finding messages from Casey and her boss, both wondering where she was.  He replied to the one from her boss, mentioning running into an acquaintance and a cab-ride home with him.  Stories had to match up, of course.  The man could draw his own conclusions about the encounter.

The battery flashed red and he scoped the room looking for a cord he had seen others use before.  Peering at the phone from different angles, he found the port and connected the cord; the screen now said it was charging.  Loki placed it on the bedside table and turned back to Reagan.

He pulled the blanket at the end of the bed up and over her, and she shifted, pulling the covers to her like a child.  He brushed hair away from her face, and wondered how to go about telling her the truth.

Humans would deny their purpose as long as they could, but a part of her was curious, he knew.  She wanted knowledge, not the idea of all of it being real.  He’d let her piece it together and come to him.  He could wait a little longer. 

Fenrir nipped at his ankle, reminding Loki of his presence.  The God of Mischief gave the tiny wolf a pointed look.  They returned downstairs, where he apologized for the intrusion and that he’d be on his way and she should be okay in the morning. 

After the door closed behind him, Loki rolled his neck.  Domestic was not exactly his forte.

* * *

“She smells strange.  Mortal but…a hint of magic.”

They had arrived back in Asgard some time later, Loki working on enchanting the chain back to its normal appearance and burying it deep into the ground again.

“Different than mine?” Loki asked, waving a hand and returning the ground to its previous perfect appearance.

“Yes…although there was a touch of you, too.  You spend time with her.”

“Brief encounters.”

“What is special about her, father?  She is mortal.  She will die.”

Fenrir reminded Loki of Odin-he had been there, briefly, to hear Thor argue his case for returning to the mortal, Jane.  The All-Father had hissed Thor would outlast her, he would blink and she’d be gone. 

But he was supposed to find a mortal.  One of them on that stupid little world of Midgard would help him attain his goal, one more birthright, probably the only one left, that he could  _actually_ have.

Unless Odin was using him to find it and going to take it from him and hide him away again.  He did enjoy doing that, shoving Aesir beliefs down other realms and taking their strongest things from them…

Fenrir nudged Loki with his snout, and absent-mindedly, the other reached out and pet him in return.  He was light-years ahead, trying to think of a plan and possible outcomes.

“Her lifespan is not your concern, Fenrir.  She has a burden she is yet unaware of.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s long and it was sitting on my computer for months before I got the urge to make it through the rough patches. Hopefully I didn’t miss too many details, but that’s what editing is for.
> 
> Warning, there is some cursing in this chapter, a mention of marijuana. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

A groan worked its way up Reagan’s throat as she struggled to wake up, her mind telling her to get up and her body refusing to listen.  She opened a bleary eye and checked her phone. 

“Damn,” she hissed, finding enough motivation to at least dart out of bed.  “Damn it all.”

Her muscles ached, protesting as she ripped through her closet, pulling out slacks, blouses, blazers, dresses.  Her feet ached, every step like walking on glass shards, as if she had walked in heels back from Carlisle’s…

Reagan cast a glance at the shoes by the bed and rolled her eyes at her stupidity.  Flat boots with insoles for today, then.

Boots, hosiery, a dress with a sweater, some long necklaces…if she made herself presentable, it was at least a viable excuse for being late.  Maybe.

She checked her phone again to find she had sent a message to her boss last night.  She didn’t remember doing so, but…she had been tired last night, she rationalized.  Another text message from within the last hour followed her reply asking where she was. 

“Coming,” she typed, “I woke up late.  I’ll be at the office within a half hour.”

In and out of the shower, hair unwashed, and finally dressed, she ran downstairs to grab something to eat.  Reagan dug through the cabinets and found a few energy bars, one of which went into her bag with her water bottle.  She nabbed a banana from the counter and peeled it as she headed to the door, passing her housemate on the couch.

“Reag, you’re still here?” Casey called from the living room.  “Shit, I thought you left…”

“My alarm didn’t go off or something.”  She hastily replied, swallowing the fruit.  “Luckily Carlisle’s forgiving sometimes; there’s no appointments today.”

Either it was her, or Casey was…quiet.  Awkwardly quiet.

“Well, I’m going to go…”

“You came in late last night.  Cute guy brought you to the door; actually he carried you inside because you were passed out.  Who is he?  What happened?” 

No eye contact, cutting tone.  She hated when Casey did this, like a scorned mother who discovered a secret.  Reagan took a deep breath and refrained from rolling her eyes. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I don’t have time for this.  Can it wait, please?  I don’t…last night’s blurry, I think I had some crack-ass dream last night to boot.  Not now.”

“Fine, but you have some explaining to do.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

She slammed the door on her way out.

* * *

_Not just anyone knows where I live…if that_ thing  _was real, then I did pass out.  But who the hell brought me home…and how did he know…_

She kept thinking herself in circles as she went through listings for auction houses and gallery openings that week.  Thursday would be terrible; she’d have to accompany Carlisle and a few co-workers to the new shows that evening and look at terribly uninteresting pieces.  The subway rides were always full of slightly drunken dissection of the worst pieces.

“Reagan…Reagan, did you hear me?  Can you meet with Paul to go over budgets and find out what we can spend in purchases this week?  There’s a few good Impressionists going to auction and Arthur says we have clients on a waiting list for Impressionism pieces…”  Lana, an assistant dealer, stood over her desk—she hadn’t noticed her walk through the glass doors—a curious and expectant look on her face. 

Black hair cut in a bob, smartly dressed, and glasses perched on her nose, she was always awaiting the one artist to make her enough to break away from the firm and start her own.   Ambitious but respectful and kind, going so far as to teach her the social ways of their realm.

“Sorry, yes, I’ll call him in a moment.”  She passed off a smile and Lana returned the gesture, retreating from her cubicle sitting before Carlisle’s office.

She scribbled a note to call Development in a few minutes and stuck it on her phone, reminding her of the task on bright purple paper.  Reagan finished her boss’s schedule for the next two weeks and tried to figure out last night one more time.

The streets were empty.  She had walked home.  Her mind threw the images of the giant wolf into the forefront, feet hitting the pavement at a speed she hadn’t used since high school.  She had decided to lose the thing and ran into an alley…the fire escape…the barrier…the figure on the roof. 

She opened an incognito window in the browser and for kicks, typed “giant wolf myth”.  Her research skills were better but she had nothing else to go on.  The pages didn’t give her much except a lot of information on dire wolves.  Eventually, an encyclopedia page came up for a creature called “Fenrir”, a monstrous wolf.  Her eyes scanned the page and she barely made it passed the first paragraph before the words “a son of Loki” caught her attention.

Reagan sighed and sat back in her chair, staring at the artists renditions of the stories. 

She went back to the search engine and looked through videos.  Mostly video games and myths being read with slideshows.  A video with today’s date directed her to the site and played automatically.

In the dim light, a fire escape grating was barely discernible from the darkness.  A male hissed for his friend to be quiet, not believing what he just seen in the living room.  Sirens rang out and in the streetlights, a small figure was running—her—and not far behind was a misty shadow, thumping down the street.  The yellow eyes were unmistakable.  

“Shit, dude, what the hell was that?  A lab experiment or somethin’?  What the hell was in that weed…”

“Shut up, you idiot.  That was real.  You seriously think after all that’s happened with New Mexico, Harlem, the Stark Expo and then Manhattan’s  _alien_  invasion that a giant fucking wolf can’t be next?  It was honing in on that person, tracking…I don’t want to think about why.  Something big’s been happening for years…moron…”

It ended there; a few hundred views and shares.  Some conspiracy bloggers gave theories, some comments extended sympathy for the runner, hoping she (giving evidence of long hair and heeled shoes) was still alive. 

Yeah, she was alive all right.  Sitting and watching evidence of what she thought was a fucking bad dream.

She was going crazy, or she would, if she kept this up.  She closed the window and swallowed back an urge to cry or scream or tell someone.  She couldn’t.  Reagan didn’t want S.H.I.E.L.D knocking on her door and demanding answers she couldn’t give on something way bigger than her being chased by a creature of myth. 

Reagan dialed Development and gathered her things to head down the hall.  Anything to take her mind off of what she had just seen.

* * *

The front door made a lovely support as Reagan leaned against it, closing her eyes with relief as her clothes dripped onto the rug.  Carlisle insisted on driving her home after she had gotten soaked by a passing car on her way to the subway station.  The stop-and-go of traffic gave her a headache, which only grew more when she smelled cooking.  She unzipped her boots, kicked them to the side and put her wet jacket on a hook to dry. 

Casey peeked her head around the corner of the entryway, a splatter of sauce on her cheek.  “There you are, I’m making pasta puttanesca; it looked yummy on the food channel…”

Reagan rolled her eyes.  Leave it to Casey to cook a new dish before she went to work.  To be fair, there was time—plenty for her to explain what she could from last night. 

She wanted to be back discussing numbers with Development or helping decide which paintings to buy on Thursday.  In the park with Loki discussing mythology.  Which was saying something, considering his potential reputation.

“Tea water’s on too, you want?”  Casey stopped stirring the sauce long enough to grab mugs and place them on the island.  “So…who is he?”

“Casey, I just got in…”

“We can do this now or later and I’m trying to spare you the awkward dinner talk I might not have time for…”

Reagan sighed and shuffled to the counter and picked her favorite tea and assembled a tea-bag to chuck into the mug.  “First of all, who brought me home?”

“Cute guy with an English accent, green eyes, black hair that’s a bit too long, little puppy on a leash.  He looked genuinely concerned, said you fell asleep on the cab ride over.”

“I never got a cab.”  Reagan’s words flew out of her mouth. 

Damn him.  Had he followed her?  He definitely didn’t have a puppy with him at the park.  Her heart jumped into her throat and she swore if he coughed it would have landed on the counter.  He had entered her home, put her to bed…

Her hands shook and she tried to calm her breathing.  Casey would write off her shaking as shivers from her wet clothes and hair. 

“You were walking and he said he saw you and that you were really tired.  He offered to take a cab with you to make sure you got home okay.  Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“I did, that’s the…museum guy.  The…one with the funny name who…”

“He didn’t look anything like him, c’mon, they’d be all over that if he was here.  I think it’s nice he was concerned.”  Casey gave a pointed look over her shoulder as she turned off the burner and poured hot water.  She turned back to the stove to finish.  “That doesn’t explain  _why_ you were tired though.  You were in a hurry to get away from dress shopping and then vanished for the rest of the night.”

“I was…I met him for a walk in the park; we had breakfast earlier and he asked if I was busy later in the day.  So I went and then Carlisle called and I had to go help with the invites and lists.”  Reagan didn’t look up at the blonde, focusing on the tea as the clear water became a nice amber with a vanilla scent.  “That’s…all there is.  I don’t exactly remember running into him but I’m not hurt and I think I’d be suspicious if I was.”

_Not hurt physically, at least_ , she thought grimly,  _I’ll be seeing yellow eyes for weeks_.

“As long as you’re sure.  But if you remember anything, you let me know.”  Casey left it at that, dishing out the meal they ate standing at the island, neither desiring to move from their spots. 

They both finished, Reagan taking the dishes so Casey could leave and go to work.  She turned on the TV for background noise and began to clean up, elbow deep in sudsy water. 

* * *

A knock on the door startled her as she placed a pot on the drying rack. 

“At this hour?  I didn’t order take-out, you have the wrong house!” she shouted, drying her hands on a towel as she walked through the threshold and to the door.

She peeked out the window on the side and caught a glimpse of a dark jacket and a pale face, black hair.

“Shit,” she muttered, unlocking the door and opening it a crack.  “What are you doing here?” she hissed, anger knotting in her stomach.  “What the hell happened last night?”

An easy smile crossed his lips and she longed to punch his face to rid him of it.  He tells her about the museum pieces, a story about Thor and his namesake going after Frost Giants with a little too much detail, and then a giant wolf attacked her and he supposedly brought her home. 

“I only came to see if you were alright.  You were tired and I thought it would only be…”

Reagan gave him a glare she reserved for people who made passes at her and touched her when she didn’t want to be, a glare for anyone who wronged her.  “Bullshit.”  Her eyes lightened up just enough to dart around and peer behind him.  She opened the door just enough to let another person pass through.  “Inside.  Now.  Shoes off.”

He did as she asked and she pointed to the living room, which he sauntered into.  Reagan watched him and reached for the baseball bat they kept in the umbrella stand behind the door, twisting it in her hand as she walked into the entryway to the carpeted room. 

“Do you really think that’s going to help you, darling?”  Loki turned around and flicked his wrist, the bat disappearing from her hand. 

"Explain last night.  Now.”

“How much have you put together?  You’ve been carrying  _such_ a burden these past few weeks.”  He spoke differently than the man she had met, his tone patronizing.  “I know you know, you’ve been doubting yourself.  That’s the thing about humans, you’re so willing to second guess yourself.”

“I know enough.  I know who you are and that you’re responsible for New York.  That  _thing_ that chased me last night?  There’s a  _video_ for everyone to see.  And how many huge wolves are there in mythology, really?”  She wasn’t feeling as confident as she sounded, they both knew that. 

“That  _thing_ , as you call him, is my son.”  He stalked over to her, looming above her so close she was sure he could smell her fear.

“And he nearly killed me.”  She retorted.

“Who do you think saved your pathetic mortal life?”  Loki growled, green eyes giving away the age his body didn’t show.  “Do you think you would be standing her if I didn’t put up a barrier to stop him?  That you wouldn’t have been found by police had I not taken you home?  Why can’t you mortals just be grateful for once?”

She felt the familiar surge of energy, her veins burning at his close presence.  It hurt now, the prolonged exposure speeding up her heart, her mind, her gut on fire and her hands shaking. 

Reagan swallowed and spoke again.  “Did you forget the video I mentioned?  What about when S.H.I.E.L.D gets a hold of that?”

Loki chuckled, straightening up to his full height and circling around her.  His eyes fell to her shaking hands. 

“Do you really think they can get much from a sequence shot by two teenagers under the influence of some recreational drug?  That they’re a credible source for something like that?  They might look into it, but they’re a little busy on the other side of the country right now.  Bigger fish to fry, I believe is the phrase.”

He stopped in front of her, looking down at her with a tilt of his head.  She looked back up, not willing to show much he scared her.  Her had never felt the pain she had before and bit her cheek to keep from crying out.  Monthly cramps were better than this. 

“I’m still waiting on an answer.”  Reagan said nonchalantly, walking to the kitchen and flicking on the light to prepare another cup of tea.  “You know,  _why_ your son chased me?  I don’t think gods tend to hang around mortals without a reason.  And don’t even think about trying to be like Zeus-never ends well…”

He followed her into the white and grey kitchen, his confusion showing as he wondered why anyone chose such stark décor for a kitchen.  She fiddled with a switch, her hand seeming to not obey her for a moment, and a fire popped out beneath a shiny blue pot before she turned back to him.  “You’re taking the news of who I am fairly well.”

“Maybe it’s because that knowledge has been lurking in my head for weeks and all you’re doing is confirming it.  I’m seriously more concerned with the chasing and stalking and how the hell you knew where I lived.”

“It’s not as simple or flippant as you seem to think, mortal.”  He placed his palms on the island, looking at her sternly.  “I wouldn’t have risked everything I did to get Fenrir unless I was sure of your worth.  You’re the one I’ve been looking for but I’m not so sure you’re ready for what I have to say.  Surely you’ve felt your blood burning, her head aching when you’re too close to me.  Your shaking wasn’t from fear, Reagan, you know that as well as I do.”

Reagan looked down, crossed her arms and took a deep breath.  The last twelve hours had been hell for her psyche and she knew she hadn’t been dreaming last night.  Here was the man who nearly leveled a world-famous city with an alien invasion who wasn’t denying his actions.  A very dangerous Norse god with the power to kill her in an instant standing in her kitchen looking at her like a predator.  She couldn’t deny his presence had power over her.  The shock, the burning.  Nothing was normal about any of this and she knew it; how could it be if he was here, saying the creature was not just that of another world but his son? 

The kettle interrupted the growing silence, which was soon filled with a clatter of porcelain on stone, pouring water, the scooping of sugar and a silver spoon scraping the bottom of the mug as she stirred.  She offered and he accepted a mug of dark brown liquid with a smoky scent to it, declining milk or sugar. 

She released the breath she didn’t know she was holding, the irony of another story being told at the kitchen island not missing her. 

“Where do you want me to start?”  He murmured, putting the mug to his lips.

“The beginning’s always good.  Let’s start with after New York.”


	11. Chapter 11

 

" _The beginning's always good. Let's start with after New York."_

Reagan leaned onto the island, trying not to look expectant. Her blue eyes found Loki staring back at her with a slightly bemused expression.

"What?" She asked.

"I'm not sure there are enough hours in the night to tell the entire tale."

He wandered over to the breakfast nook further into the kitchen, the view of a small, miniscule patch of grass and a tall fence barely hiding the window of the house behind it. The three walls had long, old windows to let in a lot of light during the day. A window seat took up created space with a white table sitting between two chairs. Loki pulled one out and tentatively sat down as if the piece would collapse beneath him, placing his mug on the table.

Reagan watched him for a second before following, flipping a switch for the small pendant lights over the table on her way. She took the other chair next to him, angling herself to be facing him.

"I'm pretty used to long tales. Everything I do…I work with mostly paintings that get passed through hands like currency. The museum stuff is only passed around to display the creations of mankind. Everything,  _everyone_ , has a story. I don't think you would be here if you didn't need to tell it." She paused, looking down into her cup, too hot for her liking. "I don't have to know everything, not right now."

"Comforting."

"I'm serious."

"I might fracture that mortal sanity you have."

"I'll take that risk."

"You owe me a story first. I already told one."

Reagan's eyes grew wide, the same look she gave him when they first met. Offense bled into her voice, baffled as to how he could ask such a thing. "I don't…I haven't had the time…that was  _yesterday_  in case you forgot."

She never let herself get worked up anymore, at least not in front of clients. Her boss was typically the one who complained about absurd clauses and prices, demands never to be met.

"Quid pro quo, darling. Surely you know how these things go. I'm just as curious about you as you are about everything I have to say."

"In case you're curious, don't call me 'darling'. Ever." Anger knotted her stomach. The jerk.  _God of Mischief alright_ , she thought,  _I should have known. You've seen Silence of the Lambs enough to know he was going to want to know something too…_

"I don't know anything off the top of my head and anything there is general. There's…the creation myth-Muspellheim and Niflheim, Ginnungagap between them. They touch, create a frost giant who created two men and a woman from his sweat and leg. A cow was created that licked a block salty ice-she licked until another man..."

She paused, searching for the name, "…Buri," Reagan looked to Loki, who nodded.

"He was the grandfather of Odin. He and his brothers hated the first giant…Ymir…and killed him. The world was created from his body. Blood became sea, bones became mountains, his skull the sky. Sparks from Muspellheim became the sun and stars…"

"Uncles Vili and Ve were such fun at dinner parties…" Loki said with disdain, taking a sip. "Yes, the basics are there. I'll take it for now."

"Your turn." Reagan gestured. "New York aftermath."

Loki gave a disdainful smile and let a breath out of his nose. "A lot more led up this than just New York, but I supposed chronological order is not exactly necessary."

He shifted in the chair and focused on the now-empty cup in front of him.

"I was taken back to Asgard filled with resignation. After the portal was stopped, after I was waved around and smashed like a toy by the green giant, I knew it was finished. I was beyond what I could handle leading an army of creatures who would never, in the end, listen to me. I wanted recognition. I certainly got it, along with sewn lips and incarceration in the place I once called home." Reagan watched his visage change for a moment; she saw black leather and green linen, gold armor over his shoulders and arms, bloody lips with black, thick stitches cinching them shut. She involuntarily shivered at the sight. "My own strength, the last thing I was truly known for back home, taken from me," Loki looked at her, probably wondering if she was still listening.

Reagan's eyebrows dipped in confusion. "Wait…I don't want to interrupt but…"

"Go ahead."

"How…did you eat? Asgardians eat; I've seen you eat."

"I was permitted freedom from them for meals in solitude; they would vanish along with my voice when I received a tray and both would return when I finished."

"Why not just take your voice instead? Wouldn't that do the same thing?" She knew she sounded stupid.

"A better question for Odin, not me. He's hardly logical about anything," he spat with more malice than she expected. "Probably something to do with visibly displaying my punishment."

Reagan nodded. "Sorry, continue, please."

"I spent much of my time in solitude, between my quarters and the library. I read. I practiced what little magic I was allowed. I thought. Occasionally teased some servants. But ultimately I grew to understand and come to terms with…a lot that came into question in recent years. Several months ago, the Allfather decided to give me one more chance at redemption. No more rotting away in silence, I could…prove myself again, which is all I'm willing to say on the matter in regards to motives. Centuries ago, before this country was even formed, I was given a weapon—much like Thor has Mjolnir—capable of great deeds. Depending on the soul of the bearer, it can ruin him, corrupt moral integrity and bring unimaginable chaos. Or it can recognize the strength within and enhance it, give unbelievable power to one who believes unwavering in his—" Reagan gave him a pointed look at the continuous mention of a single pronoun, which he amended, "—or her, convictions. The story goes that the sword is capable of destroying a figure in Norse mythology who stood for moral integrity. In fact, it is the  _only_ thing capable of such a feat."

He paused and Reagan could see the gears turning in his head.

"I was never meant to claim this weapon. It is mine, but not mine to take. The Allfather decided I would, instead, be responsible for the Midgardian who is, before others attempt to claim it." He spoke soft and clear, a hint of scorn leaving his lips.

Loki looked at her and she finally saw the toll that search must have taken on him. She had noticed his eyes before, but never how old they looked, the knowledge they had seen.

In that instant, she felt insignificant on the whole, realization setting in. New York had happened and that invasion was alien. In front of her, for weeks, was a man who was once worshipped as a god, centuries' worth of strength and knowledge. She was one in seven billion. Cosmically, that ratio grew smaller and smaller counting the other galaxies and dimensions and realms. She was a speck of dust compared to him. He could blink and she'd be old and than gone.

The scarier part was the second thought churning her stomach. Of all of the living beings, of all of the those seven billion humans, it was  _her_. She was the one he believed was supposed to help him.

The second should have made her feel special, honored, even. Somehow it only reinforced the first.

"And that's where I come in?"

"Yes, that is the role you play in this. I am more than willing to share details of the story, the truth to the watered-down myth the Norse men created. It is late, however, and the tale extensive. I think you've had enough given to you at the moment."

The knots in her stomach clenched again, thoughts circling in her head. She felt exhausted and realized he was right. Twenty-four hours ago, she was chased by a giant wolf, which turned out to be a real event and not a dream; she confronted a god and demanded answers; and now, she was supposedly meant to help said god retrieve an item of mythical origin.

"I think other people have had worse news. I get to live, I'm okay with that."

The silence between them said what they were both thinking, that she  _might not_ get to live after this was done, not if anyone else had their way.

Kill her and Loki's chance at the sword vanished.

She stretched, yawning wide and pardoning herself afterwards. "I agree, I've had enough for the moment. It's late and need to get to work on time tomorrow."

She collected the mugs and Loki stood up with her, waiting while she put the mugs in the dishwasher.

Reagan walked him to the door, the deadbolt clicking open as he adjusted his jacket.

"Who else?" She asked, hand on the doorknob. She dared to look straight up at him, demanding an answer she knew she might not get. "Who else wants this thing?"

"A story for another day, I'm afraid. Do you have anything besides that blunt thing you had earlier?" He brushed her question off like a piece of dust on his lapel, as if he didn't hear her.

"I…no, I don't. A butcher's knife from the kitchen maybe, but I'm not a fan of close fighting. Or any fighting, really…"

"That'll be changed. You'll be useless if you can't fight."

"Excuse me?"

Loki bent down, his nose brushing hers as he let a slightly menacing tone slip through just enough to match her offended one. "Others need you as much as I do. I will not have the single chance I have at getting back into good graces ruined because the mortal I need cannot protect herself. Do you know what they'll do to you after they get what they want?"

She two hands grip her throat, not hard, but hard enough to get off her air supply, to likely bruise her.

"They will kill you, Reagan. Without a second thought. After you retrieve the sword, you have no purpose to anyone except back here on Midgard. If that at all. I'm sure you're easily replaceable."

She opened her mouth to make a noise and nothing came, hands on his forearms, pulling. She stared at Loki, attempted to glare at him. A glimmer of something in his eyes wasn't there before and she wondered what happened after the blackness, after the spots she was seeing took over entirely.

She felt as if she had swallowed fire, her throat suddenly free and vision full of dancing spots. She wavered, dizzy and lightheaded with the only words in her head doubting her purpose as a human being. What the  _hell_  was that? Why had he decided to make a point by choking her? She understood life and death, she understood what he was saying perfectly fine.

"Get out." She croaked, rage filling her to the point where her hands shook unless she clenched them, the tremors making their way down her arms. "Get. Out."

She barely caught the glimpse of his face, slightly startled at what he had done. She didn't hear him stammer her name in an attempt to get her attention, to make his way back through the fog of anger and pain encompassing her.

He hadn't meant to hurt her. Circle his hands on her throat, add a little pressure, but not throttle her. Loki barely made it out of the doorframe before she slammed it, knocking him forward on the stoop.

Most of it went as planned. Loki cursed himself in a language a passerby would never understand. Hurting her would do nothing. He needed her to trust him and he nearly killed her.

He sighed and looked around at other buildings, the best place to watch from. He had a feeling she would not be left alone tonight, not now, not that she knew. Whether in her dreams or something sent after her, he could not leave her alone to deal with them. He'd be called a creep, too, he knew, but this was for her own safety. As if she'd believe him now after her choked her.

He found a spot on a building and sat on the low wall, the stone cold, hardly a bother for him.

* * *

The lock clicked home, echoing in the empty townhouse as she reached for the baseball bat in the umbrella stand again. Her vision was finally sorting itself out a little more as she turned off the downstairs lights and made sure everything was in order.

The stairs creaked beneath her, knuckles white from her death grip around the bat. She half-wondered if she would have to wear a scarf all day to hide the bruises and found herself angry she had to go around with the marks of a man's hands on her body.

Reagan got ready for bed, and changed into her pajamas, washed her face, brushed her teeth. It hurt to swallow. She hoped to have some kind of voice in the morning, she had phone calls to make. In the harsh light of the bathroom, she saw the red hand marks forming, the tiny vessels in her eye having popped as if she had strained her eyes.

 _Should have used the bat on the first chance you had, Reagan_ , she thought.

She filled a tiny plastic cup from under the sink with water and carried it back to her room along with her wooden companion. The water went on her bedside table as she stood the bat up, handle within reach for when she was lying down.

She fell asleep faster than she expected to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever, and I should have been studying or doing a ton of stuff I have due for the end of the semester. But this happened instead.  
> 5/22/14: I didn't like the way this ended when I first wrote it. Still unsure of it now, but I like it a little better.  
> Also, for those interested, I've created a Pinterest board of inspiration. Kaya Scodelario is Reagan's face claim, and there's some design ideas and dresses and other stuff there. More to keep my mind active.  
> Hope you enjoy. :)


	12. Chapter 12

Reagan felt grass beneath bare feet, startled to find she was not in bed, but in an open field.  The earth faded out as the horizon met the universe, colored gases warping together with twinkling stars in their wake.  The sky above her was blue, as it was on Earth, thin, wispy clouds overhead.  The impending twilight was in no hurry to arrive, rather waiting for the ground to touch it first in the far distance.

 In front of her was something resembling a drawing she came across in her brief research.  A tall tree reached up, stretched to what laid beyond and seemed to disappear in the blinding sun.  She heard the busy buzz of bees, the hum of crickets, of rabbits and mice and foxes, as they ran around their daily activities.  As if she wasn’t there.  Far off, she could have sworn she heard a rooster crow.  The leaves of the tree rustled with a breeze, shimmering in the light. 

Reagan wandered towards the tree, not entirely of her own free will.  Her body was on autopilot, simultaneously drawn out of curiosity and something else, something she could only vaguely consider déjà vu.  Her pajamas felt out of place in the warm weather, the fabric slightly stifling. 

She felt out of place, period.  What was this place? 

As she approached the tree, she saw a large hole beneath one of the roots.  She was close enough to see yellow eyes watch her.  A red squirrel, rather large for its kind, appeared from the foliage above and scampered down to the roots, to the hole, and began chattering away.  A sharp hiss sent the animal back up, but not before laying its black eyes on Reagan and staring for a few seconds.

_I’m dreaming_ , she thought.   _I have to be_ . 

She caught sight of a well, with three women clothed in dresses she had only seen at reenactments or on mannequins, their hair covered with cloth.  Between the three of them was a spool of golden thread, glistening in the sunlight as it traveled its way to a loom, where it was worked into fiber and other threads, painstakingly so. 

She watched as one of the woman’s faces contorted in frustration and mutter something in another language.  An older woman of the trio came over, pointing to an alteration in the pattern.  The weaver looked to be middle-aged while the last woman looked younger than Reagan, a child-like youth clinging to her.

The tapestry stretched out farther than Reagan could see.  Images flickered over the fabric in a montage-fashion, glimpses flashing to life and then vanishing again.  The entire thing seemed to be like a Persian carpet to her, all patterns of flowers and geometric shapes.  They were not immediately repeated, but now and again, the same one appeared in different colors. 

Two swans walked about, feathers glistening from a recent bath in the well near the women. 

“You’re late.” The older woman looked pointedly as Reagan.

“No one is ever late, don’t you know that, Urðr?  They show up when they decide to.  We simply tie the knots and be done with it.”  The woman weaving gave a softer look to Reagan, who felt like she stepped in on a family feud.  “Forgive Urðr, dear Reagan, she’s bitter with humans after centuries of the same mistakes.”

“How do you know who I am?”

“We are the weavers of fate, it is our business to know everything.” The third woman spoke softly, her eyes clouded over and vacant, staring through the sole human.  “You wish to know where you are and what all of this is?”

“How…?” Reagan’s eyes darted to the other two women for an answer. 

“We are the Norns, weavers and rulers of the destiny of gods and men.  Or we used to be.  We’ve now become the recorders of fate, hardly interfering unless asked to.  Urðr knows what has happened.  I, Verðandi, know what is happening and record it as it occurs,” she gestured to the loom and golden thread.  “We were working on yours, such a remarkable soul color for an unremarkable human—“

Reagan’s brow furled and nose crinkled instinctively at the offense she took to that statement.   _What a whacked dream_ , she thought bitterly.   _Wake up, wake up_ .  She crossed her arms, elbows sitting in her palms as she tried pinching herself.

“—who won’t realize there’s no waking from this until her business is finished.”   Verðandi looked at her the way her mother used to when she wasn’t paying attention, leaving Reagan feeling even more inadequate to be wherever she was.

“It wasn’t meant in offense, it simply meant you followed the same course contemporary mortals do.”  Urðr explained, slapping Verðandi’s hands and causing her to drop the knot she was about to tie.  “Careful, you don’t want to mess up because you’re busy scolding her like a child.  She’s young but remember the tasks ahead of her.  No child is capable of that.”

“Gold is for those with a great fate ahead of them.  For a human to have it is rare.  You recall what the Lie-Smith told you?”  Verðandi’s eyes rested back on the tapestry and found knots of gold tied with green, shimmering to differentiate between mortal and god. 

“That I’m supposed to help him get a sword so he can go home and be accepted again?”

“Essentially.  You are here, at the foot of Yggdrasil, at the Allfather’s request.  Once Loki found you, the gatekeeper Heimdall saw you and told Odin, who believed you needed a little convincing of the world you need to immerse yourself in.”  Urðr said, sitting back down on a tree-stump to let her sister weave.  “Skuld, perhaps you could enlighten her a little.”

“You will go to great lengths to achieve what you must,” the youngest began, her voice slow and soft, like someone awake too long.  “You will initially shock yourself, go to the top of the worlds only to climb down and descend into the world only meant for those already gone.  A great enemy is seeking revenge on the Lie-Smith for wasting resources and time, promising an energy source that was taken by your people and locked away.  This is not only about Loki regaining his place in Asgard, it is about saving the nine realms and the integrity, the moral goodness and hope that everyone is capable of a good act that holds it together.”

High above them, a rooster crowed. 

“On cue, as always.”  Verðandi muttered. 

“Vidofnir is allowed to be proud, he has stood and watched evil deeds occur that should have broken his patience and faith in humankind.”  Urðr rambled.  “And yet he still knows there are those capable of kindness and heroism.  Let him crow.” 

“None of this is making sense.”  Reagan muttered.  “I don’t understand.”

“All will be explained in full in time,” Skuld looked at Reagan again, the human getting the feeling she was staring through her again. 

“Am I expected to just…go with this?  That I’m supposed to help find a weapon capable of killing an immortal rooster?  That the man who nearly killed me was once considered a god centuries ago, that he’s responsible for the destruction of one of the greatest human achievements ever?  This is insanity.  This isn’t real.  Mythology was a way to explain the world, create parallels and give lessons.  They’re  _stories_ .  This...I don’t…”  Tears began to gather and burn behind her eyes, blinding her.  “None of this was or is real.” 

“It is hard to accept, that your world is not the only one.  But you must embrace this truth to move forward, Reagan.  Return to your slumber.”  Verðandi looked up from the loom again, bright grey eyes locking with the mortal’s blue ones.

The grassy field and magnificent tree faded as Reagan’s vision flickered to black and her legs gave out beneath her. 

 

 

* * *

The mattress was warm and soft beneath her as she snapped awake, a cry escaping her lips.  Reagan’s chest heaved as she sobbed, unaware of the time and whether her housemate was home yet. 

She took in her surroundings through watery eyes and touched the closest things to her-the baseball bat, her phone, the sheets and blanket-to ground her. 

“Calm down,” she muttered to herself, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, “you’ll make yourself sick.” 

No matter how deep she breathed, it never seemed to be enough, her lungs never reaching full capacity.  Reagan closed her eyes again, willing herself back to sleep.  Her clock read 3:16, she had to be up in a few hours to get ready.  She heard a sound and opened an eye in time to see ripples of light and a figure materialized in her room as she fell asleep.  Familiar green eyes locked with her red and puffy blue ones, begging for him to just leave her alone and let her potentially get some semblance of sleep.  She had had enough for one night.

He waved his hand in her direction as he turned towards the large armchair in the corner, one she often sat in to read.  Reagan felt exhaustion wash over her suddenly, her entire body heavy as lead, like someone had given her a sedative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd been hoping to be able to update sooner, but I've been busy with college-related things, even though it's summer. This took me a while and comes off as a little filler (it kind of is), but Reagan needed something other than Loki to solidify what she's supposed to do, her purpose. Besides, fate's an important part of mythology as a whole and I thought it would be good in incorporate.  
> As always, thanks for reading. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter up soon.


	13. Chapter 13

Reagan rubbed the sleep out of her eyes in the hot shower, unable to shake a heaviness clinging to her limbs. She had not felt this way since college when she was sleep-deprived and yanked herself out of bed to head to class.

Her neck now bared a large hand mark, an angry red and purple that would be nearly impossible to hide.  
She slipped undergarments on and kept the towel around her as she went to sift through her clothes for work. She found a matching scarf, a little bulky for the weather, but it would do.

Her armchair was still occupied; Loki’s legs eagle-spread and his arms draped over the chair’s, his head turned to keep it from dropping to his chest. Whether he was asleep or pretending, she wasn’t sure-his breathing was steady and slow but that was easy to copy. Especially for a god.

She snapped out of looking at him long enough to grab clothes and head back to the bathroom to change, just in case.

As she gathered her things to head downstairs, she knew Casey would not be thrilled about keeping a dimensional interloper who attempted to take over Earth in the house, even if she didn’t believe Reagan’s confirmed theory.

Here’s hoping I live through waking a god…she thought.

She originally was going to say his name and loosely grab his arm and shake him awake. Reagan did not except her arm to go through his arm, startling her. The image flickered in ripples of light and then became whole again before disappearing.

“What?” She growled softly, letting out a sigh. She was still getting used to the magic concept.

She went downstairs, the smell of bacon and pancakes flooding the entryway from the kitchen. The figure she originally thought to be sleeping was putting cooked pancakes, chocolate chip by the looks of them, on a plate, already filled with bacon and scrambled eggs. She could say little, as she did not know what surprised her more; a god cooking or how he had simultaneously been cooking and sleeping upstairs.

A glance at her sink and the pans soaking in sudsy water made her groan internally and she could not believe such a domestic thing somehow grounded the situation by any means. At least they weren’t scrubbing themselves.

They stood there in silence, the man who had told her of her significance holding a plastic spatula staring back at her as she stared at him. He nudged the plate in her direction with his free hand before turning to put the other pan and the spatula in the sink.

“You didn’t…but you were just…” Confusion fell over her features as her hand held up a pointed finger, indicating the floor above them. “And then you weren’t…but you’re down here.”

“Very articulate, Miss Reagan, your mortal senses are so perceptive.” The sarcasm wasn’t missed and she gave him a pointed look.

“But how did you…?”

“What kind of God of Mischief would I be if I could not create illusions to trick people?”

“Fair point. This,” she gestured to the plate, “wasn’t necessary, I usually just grab something and go or stop along the way…” Casey making her food was one thing. They were housemates. This was different. She felt uncomfortable at the idea of a stranger cooking in her house for her; a part of her was humbled at the idea of a god cooking her, a mere mortal, breakfast.

“And you had an encounter with the Norns last night and are probably still reeling from the last few days. You can take fifteen minutes to eat. The chocolate helps the shock, or at least makes everything seem better.” He retorted, fixing his shirt sleeves to do the dishes.

“All of this…by hand?”

“Food started with magic has a slightly weird tang to it in a world where magic isn’t widely used. I don’t mind it. But consider it an attempt at apology for my actions yesterday.”

“Which ones, the strangulation or entering my room without permission?” Reagan picked up the utensils by the plate and cut a piece of pancake to try. The chocolate was gooey and warm, the pancake itself fluffy.

“The latter was because of the Norns; Odin asked them to contact you and push you further into this situation, convince you. Didn’t bother consulting me—or you, for that matter, considering it’s your brain and sleep he ruined—on whether you were ready for more. He informed me of his decision while you were with them, in a similar dream-vision.” Loki was forearm-deep in dishes and soap, the pink sponge being used to scrub the crisp remains of food harder than probably necessary. “The Allfather, of all Asgardians, should know the potential damage of giving a mortal too much exposure to something beyond their current capacity. I heard you scream and thought it would be better for me to stay closer.”

“Implies you were already closer than I thought,” she swallowed a bite of pancake as she picked up a piece of bacon.

“I stayed nearby in case someone, or something, tried to attack you. The veil has been lifted, you’re aware of the problem and are a target, Reagan. Without you, no one gets the weapon. You’re an asset, my asset, and it shall remain that way.”

They both finished in relative silence, running water, the soft scrubbing of the sponge, and utensils scraping porcelain the only other sounds.

She wasn’t big on being an object to someone, a means to an end. The possessiveness in his voice was creepy and she said so, muttering, “I’m not a thing to be kept.”

“No, but I will not allow anyone else to ruin my chances of getting back into good graces nor potentially take over Midgard or any other realm. The latter would negate the former.” He paused, setting the last piece of cookware in the dish rack beside the sink. “I am sorry about the choking. Whatever trust you had was shattered and while I’m certainly not one known to be trustworthy, I need to make an exception if we are to work together.”

Reagan held her tongue, wanting to give a quip about how big of him that was, realizing he needed to trust someone he thought was likely incapable of anything useful.

She glanced down at her empty plate, the china whisked away from her before she had a chance to take it to the sink.

Silence continued between them, until Loki broke it, drying his hands and walking around the island to her. “Take off the scarf.”

She gave him a strange look but complied, unwinding the soft material and holding it in her hands. She felt an icy chill as his fingers grazed the bruise, floating above her skin. A sudden warmth enveloped the mark, flaring through it and then retracting until she felt the cold again.

“While you are in my protection, that does not mean I take joy in having marred you. People would talk and you certainly do not need such interference.”

She hesitated, bowing her head for a second and looking at the scarf tangled in her grasp, before looking up again. She didn’t need to look to know he had healed her bruise. More magic. More inhuman things around her, another reminder of what she was already ankle-deep in.

“Thanks. For the food and the apology. And the weird healing thing. I have to go and I’m pretty sure Casey wouldn’t be okay with a stranger hanging around the house.” She readjusted the bag on her shoulder. “I get home around five or so. I’m game for research and listening and planning…” She sounded so domestic and the entire situation sounded like it happened every week. “Slow, though, I just…last night…”

“You can talk me through what they showed you last night, what they said. I’ll tie to the myth as best as I can.” He sounded surprisingly patient to her. “I’ll walk with you this morning and then meet you after work to head back.”

“That’s…”

“If you say that’s not necessary, need I remind you about being a target and your lack of physical combat skills?”

She gave a low growl of frustration, but conceded as she ushered him into the foyer and out the door.

I’m already a little late as it is, Reagan thought as she whipped out her phone and found no text, much to her relief.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the building, gleaming glass windows displaying the pieces in the first-floor gallery to be purchased or end up at auction, should something catch an eye. It at least helped to in visitors and anchor the business a little.

“I’ll meet you here at five.” She was far from pleased at the finality of his tone. “I’m going to try and find decent translations for you to read.”

“There are some bookstores a few blocks east and the city library’s near the park we met at, if that helps.” She replied, waiting for the girl who worked the front desk to unlock the door. “I still can’t wrap my head around this…”

“Well, your brain isn’t a total pile of slime yet, so I suppose there’s hope.”

Reagan glared hard at him as she stepped into the threshold, the door held open by a younger girl glued to her phone. She had wanted something clever, even snarky, to slip across her lips, but nothing came. Probably best to not set a bad example for the gallerina, if she was even paying attention.

“Until five, Miss Reagan.” A polite tone returned to his voice as the door shut behind her and the other woman turned the lights on.

* * *

 

Reagan walked through the gallery and to an alcove with a large industrial elevator. The contraption clattered open and continued to rattle for most of the ride up after she pressed the button for the office floor.

Dropping her belongings on her desk, Reagan peered inside her boss’s office to find him finishing up a phone call. He pointed to the empty chair across from him and the tray of coffee with sugar, creamer. The two pieces of chocolate, one for each of them, told her it was going to be a long day.

* * *

 

It took several trips to different establishments and berating multiple employees, but Loki finally settled on a decent Midgardian version of the story, purchasing it with money created at a sleight of hand, along with several original copies of the text he found through the internet when he returned to his hotel.

He had too many hours between now and meeting the mortal again. Her scream, the site of her in the dark, in tears, fear seering through her as she looked at him. He had simply put her back to sleep, knowing the vision had ruined whatever sleep she managed to get.

A pang flickered through him as he remembered waking up from nightmares in a similar fashion, before New York and after. Frigga had watched over him the first few nights; he wondered if the look he gave her when he awoke was anything like Reagan’s, full of fear and confusion.

This was supposed to happen without further interference; how was he supposed to keep her from whatever men or creatures were after the weapon when Odin and the Norns were puncturing holes between dimensions, practically making her a beacon?

How was he supposed to ensure her sanity stayed intact when he wasn’t the one in control of what she was being exposed to? Not that he cared, to a degree; she was a tool, albeit his tool, to get his weapon, but making sure she would be sane afterwards meant a cleaner trail. Meant she wouldn’t end up useless before he accomplished his goal.

The short vision he shared with Odin involved him holding his tongue, a difficulty when he finally had his true power back. He understood the importance of her comprehending fate and all of that, but just…thrusting her destiny upon her, or exposing her to a new realm so soon…these mortals were not like those who worshipped them. Other dimensions and gods and creatures were stories, nothing more. The Allfather was stuck in his ways and what little arguing Loki did on her behalf would do nothing. She a mortal. She was cosmically insignificant to him beyond getting yet another weapon powerful enough to scare Odin into wanting it.

It was a comfort to know Allfather could not interfere and take him from Midgard, however; this was his punishment, and being removed and replaced by someone else or the mortal simply taken back to Asgard would defeat the purpose.

Now that he had his mortal, he needed to plan. What to tell her, what to teach her, or try to—he wondered if she would have any magical ability herself—and when. She needed to be able to do whatever it was she did for money as well as train and learn. He began making notes in the book he had used during his travels and tracking, scribbling necessities in runes long since forgotten by humans.

She had mentioned that party some time ago, that morning they agreed to meet and talk more. The reason she had to run off and the reason he had an opportunity to use Fenrir. He made a note to mention it if she did not.

Time crept by, Loki eventually abandoning his pen for meditation, clearing his thoughts and memories before meeting Reagan again. He was going to try a spell on her, powerful but requiring little energy from someone as practiced as him, to see her memories of the vision, bridge their minds. She would, if he was not careful, be able to do the same to him during that time. She knew enough about his punishment and experience without having to see any of it first-hand.

He opened one eye and glanced at the clock beside the bed, which read 4:34. Loki gathered his things into a leather shoulder bag, a briefcase he often saw mortals using and figured copying the style would help him blend in, and headed back out.

* * *

 

Reagan threw her things into her bag, deciding it was better to be down there and waiting then to rush and make sure she was on time. If anything, he could be late; although she doubted that ever occurred.

It was slow anyway and she had just finished going through RSVPs. Carlisle wouldn’t need her for five more minutes, not after the meeting he had just dashed out of.

She took the stairs, the quicker and quieter option. She turned and went past the reception desk, taking notice of a tall, thin figure with black hair. Of course.

He looked over his shoulder at her and she felt like a child being picked up from school. Hardly a warm hello, but to be spoken to would make it far less awkward.

“You’re early,” she stated, hardly bothering with wondering why. He was a god, he could never be late.

“It’s impolite to be late when we have much to discuss,” he turned on heel and began walking towards the door, expecting her to follow and holding it open for her. “Are you hungry?”

“I was going to make dinner when I got back.” She replied, giving a small wave to the other woman.

She matched his quick pace as they traversed the way back to her home, although occasionally trailed behind and jogged to catch up. If anything, he often cut the crowd a little for her, given the evening rush from work; the accumulation of people at the intersections often nudged her closer. Her head throbbed and fire burned in her veins again at being that close to him again. She felt occasional glances to her and knew it was written on her face, her pain pinching her eyebrows down.

“Unfocused magic,” Loki ducked down enough to whisper in her ear while they waited, the action giving nearly the appearance of affection. “Once you’re trained, this will cease, but it currently has nowhere to go and it’s hurting you instead.”

He put a hand on the back of her head, absorbing some of the reaction. He watched her face ease and her posture straighten a little, her eyes darting around as if she had been in a haze.

The light across the street changed and they continued on their way. The pain returned a block before her house, stronger this time. When they arrived at her door, she fumbled with her keys and practically leaned on the door for support after she closed it, dumping her bag unceremoniously by the stairs.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, ducking his hand and trudging up the stairs. She didn’t need him to touch her; she knew migraines, she knew if she just took something and relaxed, she would be fine. “I’m going to change and find some medicine, help yourself to something to drink.”

She felt his eyes on her as she trudged up the stairs, stumbling on the last step and catching herself quite close to the floor. No laughter followed.

Reagan found him unpacking his books and computer at the breakfast nook and turned her attention to the fridge, trying to find something to make. She settled on broiling fish in the oven, which required little work.

“First order of business, after dinner, is your dream last night,” Loki said as he moved books to accommodate the plates she was setting in front of both of them. “The Norns are the recorders of fate; they were once in control of fate, but over time they stepped back and simply weaved history as it happened instead of events being pre-determined.”

Reagan nodded, prompting him to continue as she ate. The headache had not subsided and she could not bear to look up from her plate. Sounds of metal on porcelain echoed in the space, Loki finishing far earlier than Reagan, struggling to do more than merely pick, despite her appetite.

“Whatever you took won’t work,” he stated hesitantly. “I told you before, it’s unfocused magic. It woke because of my presence and reacted with my magic, hence why it often only happens when I’m here. It did, at least, help to narrow down who to look for.”

She had stopped eating to listen, her eyes unable to truly focus on anything. “It wasn’t until you sat next to me on the bench in the museum that the pain stopped though. No physical touching. The walk the other night, I felt burning in my arm, but nothing like this…”

“Your acceptance of all of this, of your responsibility, helps alleviate some of it, much like the acceptance of the death of a loved one helping to ease emotional pain. My magic does not replenish as fast as yours, there’s so little of it here and my body is unaccustomed to this place. Yours, on the other hand, has been dormant for your entire life. How—”

“Twenty-six.”

“Hardly anything at all, but twenty-six years of magic finally waking up. Think of it like a volcanic eruption. Years and years of dormancy and suddenly, everything comes at once with damage to everything around it. I’ve drained enough of it from you on occasions for it to help me as well as keep it from harming you. Much like it is now. The Norn’s vision helped but all of the exposure, between me, Fenrir, the dream, is getting your body used to a constantly outlet, which you don’t have.”

Her vision went blurry and she blinked hard to clear away the cloudiness. It did not leave, but instead left the world around her shimmering, waves of light with warm metallic tones washing over everything as if she was looking through a glass of champagne or a kind of ale.

Loki looked different, too, wearing green linen and black leather, his right shoulder and both arms clad in gold armor. His visage shimmered, giving a glimpse of the simple slacks and shirt he actually wore, before changing back into the strange outfit. She noticed the length of the overcoat as he stood and then took the seat closer to her. A faint thought recognized the outfit fit him well, both physically and in personality. What strength he hid behind that glamour and mortal clothing. Another wave passed by, changing his skin blue and eyes red, markings meant to show a son of Jotunheim, a frost giant hiding as an Aesir hiding as a mortal.

“Is that what you really wear? All leather and metal?” Reagan’s voice didn’t sound like her own. It was slower, somewhere between exhaustion and drunkenness, a hint of flirtation hardly her style. A loose grin crossed her lips, finding humor at nothing in particular. Her breathing was heavier, a struggle for enough air in the heavy, shimmering haze.

“That’s how we like it on Asgard, Reagan. Close your eyes.”

She obeyed and felt ice-cold fingers in her hair. Suddenly, the heaviness lifted. Her breathing was no longer a chore, the pain in her head gone. The world around her was no longer slow and hazy. Reagan registered the lack of pain, as if it was a miracle to not be suffering with the headache.

Loki’s hands were still holding her head, fingers threaded through her hair. He was looking at her intensely, or so it seemed; Reagan saw his eyes glazed over, as they were the morning they had breakfast by accident. He was looking through her, focused on something intangible.

She felt her memory being prompted, a nagging sensation similar to failing to recall the answer to an exam question. The previous night began to play in her head, the door slamming in Loki’s face, bed, her dream.

The bits and pieces she remembered played in her head; if she looked just over her shoulder, she could see a glimpse of Loki watching, listening to the three strange women of fate.

Yet again, the base of Yggdrasil dissolved around her and she found herself in her kitchen, the world a little duller than it was before. She felt sick, the kind that came with not eating for long periods of time and a low blood-sugar.

Loki’s hands left her head, the absence as startling as the lack of pain.

“That was what I was afraid of happening if you were exposed to magic too fast.” He murmured after a beat as she began eating again, finishing what remained on her plate. “Although you’re charming when intoxicated.”

Confusion and embarrassment washed over her as she realized he meant the effect prolonged magic had on her, not alcohol consumption.

“Training will help and keep you from burning from the inside-out. The memory sharing should give a little time to focus on other things.” He watched her hands tremble before she balled them into fists in attempt to stop the shaking, failing. “It will kill you, or at least your grip on sanity, if you don’t learn to control it.” His voice was still soft, the amount of patience surprising to her.

Silence fell between them, Reagan attempting to rid herself of the trembling and Loki giving her a moment to adjust back to reality.

“I…what happened to me simply telling you what they said?” She asked, recalling his words this morning.

“I had to pull you out of that state, lest you die before all of this even begins. I was already part of the way in your mind anyway and it helped use up some of your magic in the process. Far easier than your confusion.”

Reagan scraped a bit of fish onto her fork and ate it, thinking on her words.

“What did they mean? The Norns, with Vidofnir. You said your sword is the destroyer of the figure of mortal integrity last night. Is that the rooster? The one with the…” she mimicked a wing with her arm and pretended to grab a handle with the other, imitating the statue they saw when they met.

Loki nodded once, obviously glad to find her coherent. “Yes. Vidofnir was often a symbol of the sun, his crow marking the triumph of light over darkness…”

He rose, easily reaching the book he chose as her translated text, flipping open to the story, two tales now condensed by most editors. Reagan took the plates, scraped what little was left on hers and put them in the dishwasher, albeit more shakily than she liked.

“This was the only copy I could find with a translation of the entire tale. It’s watered-down but the details are not entirely lost for an English version.”

He held the book out to her at the page the poem started on, lasting all of five and a half pages.

“The Ballad of Svipdag?” Reagan read the title aloud and glanced up at the god, hands at her sides. “This is what will make all of this make sense?”

“It is your turn to tell a story, Reagan.” Loki smirked, holding the book out farther, urging her to take it. “I haven’t heard it in its entirety in a few centuries. Would you do the honors?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers. 
> 
> It's been a while. College has started again and I had been hoping to make more updates before that happened. Obviously, I never got around to it. 
> 
> This one was long to not only make up for the shorter chapters, but to further the plot a little bit. So this is one of two updates at the end of August (the second being the poem Reagan will be reading). This took me longer than I wanted it to, simply because I was busy between the last update in July and now and I got a little stuck until earlier. Leave it to having only homework to do to help me out for once.
> 
> Anyway, I'm really excited to hopefully see this move a little more forward, plot-wise. It took me two years to get to this point, from the inception of spinning the myth into something bigger. I'm going to try and make some time to write during the semester and at least make some small progress.
> 
> Thanks for sticking it out and your kudos and comments. They make my day and I love knowing people are reading.


	14. Chapter 14

_The ghastly rotting smell rose towards him. The cold began to burn him. The darkness reached up to him and he drew near to the place as dreadful as the worst of fears, the worst of dreams._

_Even now, he did not flinch or falter. Svidag was swift as light. He reached the gates of Niflheim, far under the world, and shouted, “Groa, wake! Wake, wise mother! I stand at the doors of the dead and call on you. Remember, before you went to your burial mound, remember how you told your son to ask for help.”_

_Then the seeress Groa rose out of her grave and slowly moved to the gates of Niflheim. “My only son,” she moaned, “what death in life afflicts you? What dire fate makes you call on me who have left the quick world and lie in the mound?”_

_“My father has married a two-faced woman,” Svipdag said. “She is working against me. She bids me go where no man can safely go, and win the love of Menglad.”_

_“That road is long,” said Groa, “and the quest will be long, but love lasts long too. You may achieve your aim if the fates favour you.”_

_“Then sing strong charms over me, mother. guard your son if you can. I fear death will ambush me and I am still young.”_

_“The first charm I’ll sing,” Groa replied, “is well proven. Rani taught it to Rind. Shrug off whatever sickens you; depend on your own strengh._

_“I’ll sing a second time then in case you are tempted to take the wrong path: bolts of Urd will be railings to keep you on the right road._

_“Then third I’ll sing in case swollen rivers threaten you: the rivers Horn and Ruth will plunge into Niflheim, and the waters will part before you._

_“Then fourth I’ll sing in case enemies attack you on the gallows way: your wish will be their desire, and they’ll long only for peace._

_“Then fifth I’ll sing in case you’re fettered and have no freedom of movement: I sing a lossening spell over your thighs – and a lock of spring apart, releasing your limbs; chains will fall from your ankles._

_“Then sixth I’ll sing in case storms at sea go on the rmpage in the way no man can: neither wind or wave will harm you, and you’ll have a fair passage._

_“Then seventh I’ll sing in case you freeze in the high rocky mountains: the fatal frost will get no grip on your flesh, and your body will be unharmed._

_“Then eighth I’ll sing in case you have taken some dismal track in the darkness: no cure from a dead Christian woman will ever harm you._

_“Then ninth I’ll sing in case you have to debate with some brute of a giant: your head shall be well stocked with wits and your mouth with wise words._

_“Now take the road with all its hidden dangers, and let no evil work against your love! Carry your mother’s spells with you and keep them in your heart; you’ll prosper for as long as my words live in you.”_

_Then Svipdag turend away from his dead mother, Groa, and the stone gates of Niflheim. He made his way back up to Midgard and began his search for Menglad through the nine worlds._

_The road was long and his quest for Menglad seemed longer._

_One day, in Jotunheim, Svipdag came to a massive stronghold, girdled by flame and guarded by a giant. “Who are you?” shouted Svipdag, “standing there a the gate?”_

_“What do you want?” retorted the giant. “What are you looking for? And why are you on the road at all, wanderer?” The giant looked no less undfriendly than he sounded. He dismissed  
Svipdag with a nod, and stuck a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s your way, anyhow: a dew-path through the forest. There’s no welcome for weaklings here.”_

_“Who are you” repeated Svipdag, “standing there at the gate, turning away travellers?”_

_“Nobody is going to welcome you with outstretched arms,”replied the giant. “You’d do best to go home. My name is Fjolsvid, and I’m known for my wisdom. But i don’t throw food around. You’ll never get a foothold in this hall – you’ll leave as you’ve come, ravenous as a wolf.”_

_Svipdag shook his head. “Few men turn their backs when they mean to set eyes on their loved one. The gates of this golden hall are gleaming; I mean to make my home here.”_

_“Who is your father, then,” asked Fjolsvid, “and what is your ancestry?”_

_“My name is Vindkald,” said Svipdag. “I’m the son of Varkald whose father was Fjolald; Wind Cold, Cold of the Early Spring, Great Cold: those are our names. Now tell me this, Fjolsvid, and tell me truly: Who sits in the high seat at this fine hall? Who is its owner?”_

_“Her name is Menglad of the necklaces, and her father was Svafrthorin’s son,” said the giant. “She sits in the high seat of the handsome hall. She is its owner.”_

_Svipdag said, “Now tell me this, Fjolsvid, and tell me truly: what’s the gate called? It’s even more unyielding than anything in Asgard.”_

_“It’s name is Gastropnir the Guest Crusher,” the giant said and he smiled grimly. I made it myself a long while ago from the limbs of the clay giant Leirbrimir. And I braced it so firmly inside and out that it will stand for as long as the world lasts.”_

_“Now tell me this, Fjolsvid,: said Svipdag. “What is the tree called that spreads its limbs over all the worlds?”_

_“It’s called Mimir’s tree, Yggdrasill,” the giant replied. “No man alive has seen all its roots; and few can guess what will fell it, for neither axe nor fire will be its downfall.”_

_“Tell me this, then, Fjolsvid,” Svipdag said: “What issues from the seed of this mighty tree that neither axe nor fire will fell?”_

_“Women in childbirth cook the fruit,” said the giant. “Then the hidden child is delivered safely. That’s why people esteem it.”_

_“What’s the cock called,” Svipdag said, “that sits on the top most bough, adorned with gleaming gold?”_

_“He’s called the tree snake Vidofnir,” answered Fjolsvid. “He illumines Yggdrasill’s limbs like lighnting. And he brings nothing but sorrow to Surt and his Sinmora.”_

_“To tell the truth,” said the giant, “they are Gif and Geri. They’re huge already and will grow more huge before Ragnarok.”_

_“Can no one hope to get inside this stronghold,” Svipdag asked, “while these ravenous hounds are asleep?”_

_“They never sleep at the same time,” sad the Giant. “That is why they were made hall wardens. One sleeps by night, the other by day, and so no one can ever pass unseen into the stronghold.”_

_“Is there no meat a man can throw to them.” said Svipdag, “and dart in while they are wolfing it down?”_

_“To tell the truth,” said Fjolsvid, “the cock Vidofnir has two wings. That alone is the meat a man can throw to them and dart in while they are wolfing it down.”_

_“What’s the weapon with which to dispatch Vidonir to the House of Hel?” Svipdag asked._

_“That’s the sword Laevateinn, the Wounding Wand,” said the giant. “Loki made it, he forged it with runes at the gates of Niflheim. It lies in Laegjarn;s chest, guarded by nine locks, and Sinmora watches over it.”_

_“Can a man hope to steal the sword and get away unscathed?” asked Svipdag._

_“A man can hope to steal that sword,” Fjolsvid replied, “if he takes what few can win as a gift for Sinmora.”_

_“What is the treasure a man should take to delight that gaunt gaintess?” Svipdag demanded._

_“In your pouch,” said the giant, “take Vidofnir’s tail feather. Give it to Sinmora and she’ll give you Laevateinn in return.”_

_“What’s the name of this hall, girdled with flickering, magic flames?” asked Svipsag._

_“It’s called Lry, the Header of Heat,” Fjolsvid replied. ‘It will always quiver and shimmer like a spear point. All men know of this noble hall and no hall more noble than this.”_

_“Which of the gods fashioned this great hall that I see within the stronghold?” said Svipdag._

_“It was Loki,” said the giant, “the Fear of the Folk. And he was helped by the dwarfs Uni and Iri, Bari and Jari, Var and Vegdrasil, Dori and Ori and Delling.”_

_Then Svipdag asked, “What’s the mountain called on which that lovely woman is reclining?”_

_“It’s called Lyfiaberg, the Hill of Healing,” replied Fjolsvid, “and it will always be a source of comfort to the sick and the suffering. Every woman who climbs it will be cured, even if she has long been confined to her bed.”_

_“Who are the maidens smiling and sitting and Meglad’s knees?” asked Svipdag._

_“One is called Hlif the Helper,” said the giant. “Then there are Hlifthrasa and Thjodvara; and shining Bjort and Bleik the white, Blid and Frid, kindly Eir and the gold-giving Aurboda.”_

_“Now tell me this, Fjolsvid,” said Svipdag. “Do they help all those who make offerings, and truly need succour?”_

_“They soon help all those who make offerings on the high altars,” said the giant. “And if they see someone is in danger, they will guard him.”_

_Svipdag said, “Now tell me this, Fjolsvid, and tell me truly: Is there any man who can hope to sleep in the arms of of fair Menglad?”_

_“No man but one,” said the giant, “can can hope to sleep in the arms of fair Menglad. And that man is Svipdag. That woman who shines like the sun is destined to be his bride.”_

_“Throw back the gates!” cried the wanderer. “Open a wide gateway! I am none other than Svipdag!” He looked at Fjolsvid elated. “Hurry to Menglad and ask her to grant me my heart’s desire.”_

_The giant made his way up the green slope behind the stronghold and reached menglad and her maidservants._

_“Listen!” he said. “A man has arrived at the stronghold whom you must come and see for yourself! The hounds are fawning on him, and the great gates burst open of their own accord. I think this man is Svipdag.”_

_Menglad looked at Fjolsvid and her heart beat as if it would burst out of her. She said in a low voice, “If your’re lying when you say that this hero has come to my hall at last…” Her voice hardened. “It will not be long before greedy ravens peck out your eyes while you swing from the gallows tree.”_

_Mengald and her maidens and the giant Fjolsvid picked their way down the slope, and crossed the stronghold to the main gateway. Menglad at once faced the wanderer. Anxiously she asked,_

_“Where have you come from? How did you get here? What do your kinsmen call you? I must know your name, your ancestry, before I can be sure I am to be your bride.”_

_“I am Svipdag, the son of sun-bright Solbjart; and I’ve followed wind-cold ways to this place. No man can deny Urd, even though her gifts are unearned.”_

_Menglad opened her arms. “Svipdag,” she said. “You are welcome here. I’ve waited so long for you. This kiss of welcome is yours, Svipdag.” Then she moved slowly towards the traveller, and she asked, “Is there any greater sweetness than the long awaited metting between lover and loved one?”_

_Svipsag stretched out his arms towards Menglad._

_Menglad said: “Day after day I’ve sat on the Hill of Healing, waiting for you. And now I have what I’ve always dreamed of.”_

_Menglad and Svipdag stepped towards each other and touched. And Menglad said: “We’ve yearned alike; I longed for you and you have longed for my love. But now, and from now on, we know we will live to the end of our lives together.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular translation is from Kevin Crossley-Holland, but also found at thenorsegods dot com. The post there is word for word from Crossley's Holland's _The Norse Myths_ , the book I've been using as a reference point for the myth myself. Copyright rests with KCH.


	15. Chapter 15

Reagan caught the footnote for additional notes and flipped to the back, the air between them charged with the words she had just spoken.  At some point she had tilted her chair onto its back legs, her foot on the rung of Loki’s chair as the story flowed from the page. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Loki murmured in a light-hearted tone that neither of them actually believed.

“Can I get a grasp on this first and then see if I’m understanding?” She retorted.  “I have questions but would like to form them properly first.”

She skimmed the notes, reading about the cyclical nature of the exchange, Fjolsvid influenced by Odin’s characteristics, Menglad a mixture of Frigga and Freyja.  Nothing helpful.  Nothing concrete to say any of this was even more than a story of the chosen, a parable.

“The poem says tailfeather,” Reagan began.  “Yet…the statue had its tailfeathers, with something under its wing.  A hilt.  I asked you about it the first day we met.”

“Translations differ,” Loki replied.  “Norse poems have kennings-compound expressions with metaphorical meaning that take the place of a simple word.  Wounding Wand is a kenning for a sword, as is Laevateinn.  Some will say tail-feather, others, sickle.  They mean the same thing, but for our purposes, are two separate objects.”

“Both of these objects are necessary?  A hilt means a weapon, so the sickle’s…here?”

“Presumably.”

They went through her questions and observations, Reagan not so much curiously inquisitive as she was trying to understand the task.  Loki found himself surprisingly patient and answering her questions as best he knew how. 

“Sickle to the real Vidofnir, tail-feather to Hel, she gives the keys to the chest.  Each party is happy and we get to be back by dinner,” she quipped, her words dripping in sarcasm.  “It can’t be that simple.  I know enough to know quests like this aren’t that simple.” 

“It won’t be.”  She didn’t miss the dark tone of excitement that escaped his lips. 

“If moral integrity is structure and order, then chaos is its opposite, right?  It varies between cultures, but that’s…a little more than mischief.  Your title is the God of Mischief.  Hardly…”  She wanted to say apocalyptic and then recalled he was, at least in stories, responsible for Ragnorak. 

_Perhaps not a good word choice, then_ , she thought.  Her facial expression gave some of her recollection away, she knew, and she cursed her lack of a neutral expression outside of work.  Reagan glanced at him to see she didn’t have to finish her sentence to know her trajectory of conversation.

“Theoretically, yes.  A bearer of the sword with a tendency towards destruction and corruption, or one who is easily swayed by those around him or her, would certainly have the potential to bring about chaos.”

He paused, picking his words more carefully than she would.  She waited, patient with him as he was with her.  Her hands had long since stopped shaking, whether due to the food or because the reading gave her something to focus on, she wasn’t sure.  Her stomach was a different story as it twisted in her gut.

“Mischief has a tendency to cause chaos.  Intentionally or otherwise,” he began.  “Chaos is impatient.  It’s random.  And above all, it’s selfish.  It tears down everything for the sake of change, feeding onto itself in constant hunger.”  He paused, looking away from her.  “But Chaos can also be appealing.  It tempts you to believe that nothing matters except what  _you_ want.”

He was staring out of the window to her right, at nothing in particular again, eyes unfocused.  She half-wondered if it was related to their previous conversation, but she had neither reason nor right to pry. 

“You okay?” She murmured, breaking the silence. 

“Yes.” He whispered.  “Are you?"

“Should I not be?”

“You’re calm for a mortal who has been told she has magic searing through her blood and is to pull out a scythe, give it to a rooster, carry it to the underworld and give it to a half-dead woman in order to retrieve a sword for a man she doesn’t know.”

She shook her head.   “I’m not one for open breakdowns, if that’s what you’re expecting.  Doesn’t mean I’m calm.  The thoughts over a lot of this have sped through my head for weeks.  Anger is useless.  But look,” she held up her hands and smiled.  “Not shaking.”

He gave a small smile, like a busy parent with no time to pay attention.  “Shall we continue, then?  There’s much to discuss and coordinate.”

* * *

They had moved to the living room, Reagan on the floor between the coffee table and the entertainment unit holding the flat-screen and some speakers, with Loki on the couch, hunched over the flat surface.  Books he brought with him were open, spread out along the entire table amongst their two computers.  Several upon several colored pieces of paper were scattered or stuck to something with questions or words. 

Most of those were from Reagan, who claimed it helped.

He sat up, rolled his neck and watched her for a second.  She was doing the opposite of him, sitting on a pillow upon the floor and using the table as she typed away. 

“Is there criminal activity involved in some of this?” She asked, not looking up at him, eyes scanning something on her screen. 

He didn’t answer.  It was assumed there was some level of criminality in parts of the entire situation.

“Aren’t you technically harboring an inter-dimensional criminal who’s still wanted on Earth for his crimes?”  Loki replied, reaching for the mug of tea she had placed down on his side of the table, none too gently, some time earlier. 

“I’d say fair point, but again, it’s not like you gave me much choice.  And there’s no harboring, you don’t live here.”  She paused, lowering her voice and muttering, “Not that I didn’t toy with the idea of telling.” 

“And who did you ‘toy with the idea of telling’ to?”

“Tony Stark.” The words were automatic, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“The Man of Iron?”

“My boss grew suspicious when I asked if I could handle a recent transaction between the firm and his personal assistant, though.  I couldn’t get in touch without drawing attention to both the firm and myself.  I wonder if he was afraid I would throw myself at him, like so many women do.” 

Loki picked up one of the numerous packets related to the gala she had dug out, hesitantly, of course.  The guest list was long and heavily annotated at this point; who was coming, who wasn’t, who hadn’t received an invitation and heard about it from other means.  She had the cleaner, electronic copy.

“But he  _is_ attending.  You still have your chance.”  He wanted to push this, see if she would be willing to involve more people.  Granted, he was sure S.H.I.E.L.D was aware of the giant wolf incident.  It had to be by now.

“I’m scared but I’m not stupid.”  She glared at him.  “You’re supposedly a god, right?  The Vikings considered Asgardians gods?”

“Most did.”

“Humans who ignored gods or put themselves as equals were punished or roped into their fates anyway, across the board.  Might as well just go along with it, but I’m also not a fan of being in prison for the rest of my life for associating with you.  For helping you.” 

“It’s a bit late to be thinking about that now, isn’t it?”

“Technically.  I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.  If there’s even a bridge to begin with.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and solemn.  She spoke only to explain the gala, the layout of tables and her crude drawings of the exhibition spaces, most of which he was already familiar with from their first meeting. 

“It would be far easier if I did not have to be an interloper and sneak in; not that I can’t, naturally.  I would prefer not to risk being removed for a lack of invitation or some inane nonsense.  Easier to protect you, as well.” 

He didn’t miss the small frown cross her face for a brief second.

“I have a plus-one I usually don’t take advantage of.” 

“Convenient.  That shall suffice.”

He watched her blink slowly, her energy and will dropping.  He expected exhaustion at this point, between her body’s physical pain, and the added weight of knowledge she now held.  He tossed the papers he held onto the table in front of him and rose, walking around the object in two long strides before sitting down in front of her.  He took the laptop from her, placing it amongst all of the papers and books, ignoring her protests.

“We’re done with that for now, you’re tired.  I want to teach you steps to meditate before I leave.”

“What good is it going to do if I’m already…” she was interrupted by a silent yawn, which she covered with her elbow.  “…tired?”

“It’ll help you relax and focus.  And will help when it comes to teaching you to use your magic.”

“We’ve already established something about proximity causing a lot of problems, right?  The whole…tingling and headaches and…” 

He felt his own magic react slightly, but she did not have enough magic in return to have felt much, if anything.  Her sleepy eyes held a small bit of panic, maybe afraid of the pain more than anything else.  Open breakdowns, no, but she was scared about her magic, he knew that.  She was allowed to be.  It would be strange if she wasn’t. 

“The more you learn, the more you’ll draw from it as I do to make you stronger, at least temporarily.  Right now, you lack the means to use your power, hence…”

“Earlier.” 

“Exactly.  Now…”

He walked her through blocking out the sounds around them, of traffic and sirens, the yelling across the street.  To focus on her breathing and only her breathing.  To clear her mind. 

If she got nothing else out of it, it laid the ground-work for her to focus on herself.  She would not be able to harness her magic if she could not focus and draw her energy from within herself to exert it. 

Loki opened an eye to check on her, only to see her head begin to drop to one side.  She snapped awake, concentration gone, slightly disorientated. 

“It’ll take time, and you’ re tired to begin with.”  He rose and packed his things.  “For now, I want all of the time not dedicated to your job; I have many things to teach you and a lot of progress to make before you’re capable of protecting yourself beyond running.”  Loki slipped on his coat, and found himself longing for his Asgardian garb.  As much as he liked some Midgardian fashions, he missed how warm his cloaks could be.  The coat wasn’t the same thing.

She stood, stretching before organizing her papers and books in neat piles, pulling out a scrap paper to scribble down her hours.  “And if I have a project to finish?  Have to drop everything and go?”

“Surely you can ask not to take on anything else?” He replied as he moved towards the front door.  His tone was expectant, as if it was obvious she was not to wear herself out for anything else except this.

“Part of my job is to drop what I’m doing and go.”  Reagan followed him, holding out the note.

He took the piece of paper from her, noting her willingness to get up earlier prior to the start of her shift.  She was complacent, tolerant, and far more believing than he expected.  She had a life before he came along, just as he once did, such as it was.  Unlike him, she had to work to pay rent and buy food and live.  Unemployment would make life easier to train her, and potentially travel, but not, he realized, if it meant sacrificing the connections she had to experts and artifacts.

Her expression was stern.  She would not extend that behavior for him, for this quest, he knew.  For a multitude of reasons he didn’t particularly care about, but reasons he had to at least attempt to understand, even if he didn’t like them.

Anger began to rise slightly within him.  Who was she to defy what he wanted done?  The quicker they got through this, the quicker he could go back to Asgard and forget this strange world.  He shoved it down, at least enough for it not to show on his face.

“We’ll manage.”  He murmured, tucking the paper into his jacket pocket before turning to the door.  “Until tomorrow.”

Loki heard a “goodnight” in return and the click of the locks as he stepped out in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that time, and it’s still a lot of filler. I’m sorry. I’ve been swamped for most of the semester, it’s finals, and I should be writing papers instead of finishing this.
> 
> “Chaos is impatient. It’s random. And above all, it’s selfish. It tears down everything for the sake of change, feeding onto itself in constant hunger. But Chaos can also be appealing. It tempts you to believe that nothing matters except what you want.”—Rick Riordan, The Red Pyramid
> 
> That sentence struck something when I read the book, a little while before the idea for this story came to me years ago. I find it applicable to Loki, in certain instances, and I thought it fitting. 
> 
> Thank you, readers, for your patience and continued returns. I’m hoping to get to this a little more often (or writing in general) during break, between GRE studying and Senior Project.


	16. Chapter 16

They trained for weeks, every waking moment she wasn’t working or didn’t have work that she took home with her. 

At first, it was running.  She didn’t question his decision, but when her chest burned and legs felt like they could give out beneath her, she often wondered what the point of all of this was.  After the second morning, her expression was pained, almost comical; he simply replied it was for stamina and there was no point in teaching her magic if she couldn’t escape when it became useless.  They ran the loop in the park several times over and he kept pace with her, even though it was evident he could outrun her in a second.

At night, she was often at the gym of the hotel Loki housed himself in, private and far better for practicing combat then her living room or a public gym.  Reagan gave her housemate the excuse of needing help with the gala and preparing to be as informative as possible about the art and artifacts.  She didn’t miss Casey’s raised eyebrow and sarcastically carefree response of “whatever you say, Reag.”

Regardless of the nurse’s beliefs, there was always a plate of food in the fridge and a container to be taken as lunch, along with several ice packs in the freezer and a heating pad by her desk.  Caring was in Casey’s nature, and Reagan couldn’t have made it this far with few injuries without her advice. 

The magic was the trickiest part, done in the privacy of his room on alternate nights to physical practice, the room warded to prevent damage to it.  With no tomes to help, she was at the mercy of Loki’s instruction and memory, centuries of knowledge and power.  He was patient with her, but she could see frustration creep upon his face whenever she was having trouble.  His words about her humanity and how it didn’t mix well with magical abilities seemed to be more for his benefit than hers, a reminder that her learning was different and her abilities harder to cultivate. 

By the week of the gala, she actually walked off of the mats at the hotel’s gym with him instead of crumpling in a ball of sweat and pain.  Both knew Loki was hardly using his full strength with her, but it was progress nonetheless.  She could exert a force around her to knock an attacker back and wind him momentarily, call magic into her palms, a glowing gold that made offensive spell casting easier; fire was the easiest, relying on frustration, anger.  She still held those feelings, although they were weaker than they were initially.  She would carry out her word, but she was not thrilled at having part of her life decided for her. 

Humans, he had mentioned, hardly ever were these days.

Much of their communication and coordination was done via texting, at Reagan’s insistence of it being quicker and easier.  Before she left one evening, she handed him a sleek, black, rectangle, similar to hers, pre-programmed with her information in it.

“I thought it would be better to have a smart-phone, internet capability and everything…”  She watched him handle the device as if he had used it before, his face blank.  Her silent question of how he knew what he was doing hung in the air as she watched him, and he answered before she could open her mouth.

“Asgard had such technology long before you did.  It’s primitive, actually, quite simple.”

Reagan nodded dumbly and packed up the rest of her things, hauling the small duffel bag over her shoulder and leaving the hotel room without breaking the silence.   _He could have just thanked me_ , she thought, slamming her knuckle into the elevator button.

* * *

 

The evening before the party was spent, for Reagan, with her boss, to finalize everything.  She had texted such to Loki, and said there was little she could do and that it was necessary, that she’d likely be back very late.  Without her job, their later plans of getting the statue to conservation to swap it with a well-crafted identical fake would fall apart.  He needed to see the piece up close in order to make one.  The gala provided a more private setting.

He was attending to keep an eye on her, as well.  The statue and the single mortal capable of pulling the sickle from it in the same area was an opportunity, one he would not lose his advantage to.  The spectacle was too perfect with a large crowd of humans, he had said to her.

His reply conveyed little concern on the matter.  A second asked her dress color with no explanation.  She assumed it would be in order for them to match, the only logical answer.    

She sent a picture she had taken at her fitting, a navy blue dress with long sleeves and a long, pooling skirt, a plunging but narrow neckline that ran to her navel, conservatively done, embroidery on the collar, bodice, sleeves, and on the edge of the pockets in the skirt.  

The pockets were the winning reason for the dress, if she was honest. 

She received no immediate reply and put her phone in her bag, setting herself to a long evening of making sure people had done their tasks and finding last-minute places for those who had RSVP’d earlier. 

Carlisle’s dining room was littered with receipts and papers, take-out containers and a well-positioned coffee pot.  Music bled into the space from the living room.  She mouthed lyrics she knew as she sifted through papers and organized them by their purpose; food and bar, musicians, security, and the like.  She half-wondered if the museum should have hired a planning company who was good at things like this, but she also knew this would strengthen the relationship between her employer and the museum.  All of this work to simply have a better working relationship. 

Had she been younger, she would have rolled her eyes and said they might as well just go to auctions on behalf of the museum.  They already did, she knew, and such work was good PR. 

She had been sitting and looking at papers in both hands, elbows on the table, and then let her head fall, forehead to the table with her arms still up.  A prominent client and collector, or rather, her personal assistant, had sent an email on her employer’s behalf before closing and expressed interest in her and her husband attending.  Reagan had called and crossed them off of the list; supposedly her schedule was booked. 

“All of the legal obligations have been sorted out with the contracts, it can’t possibly be that bad,” he joked, taking both sheets out of her hands.  His face fell as he read the email.  “Oh.”

“We ran out of tables last night.”  She replied, muffled against the dark mahogany surface.

“So I saw.  Could we rent a few more in the morning?”

Reagan raised her head and then pulled out the updated budget with expenses thus far.  “It’d dip into the contingency budget.  Not significantly, but that’s what it’s there for.  If we can even get them on time.”

The night continued in that fashion, and she wished to come across cancellations in order to make room where they could. 

“You’re using your plus-one?” Her boss asked, eyes on the paper in front of him; the employee guest list. 

“Yeah, a friend of mine expressed interest in going a few weeks ago.”  She caught his wary eye, and amended, “A scholar .  He was hoping to speak to some of the experts on the Viking artifacts, actually.”

_Not a_ complete  _lie,_ she thought.

“At least there will be one pair of attentive ears throughout the evening, then.”

Nothing more was said on the matter and Reagan released a breath, relief washing over her. 

A final to-do list for the morning and afternoon was established at the end of the night, along with a revised time-line and other details she was far too weary to make sense of. 

When she walked into her home, she collapsed against the door in exhaustion.  She trudged up the stairs, dumping her bags unceremoniously near her closet and kicking off her shoes before collapsing halfway onto the bed.

“You could have at least tried to make it all the way  _onto_ the bed.”

She hadn’t even bothered to see if he had taken the large armchair, assuming she would find it empty, as least until she fell asleep.  Then again, she had said she would be back late.  For him to be here waiting was not wholly surprising. 

Weeks ago, Reagan would have jumped, screamed, or reacted in fear as anyone would at not noticing the presence of a strange person in his or her bedroom.  She hadn’t slept well the first week or two, creeped out by the idea of a strange man, a god, in her room; he had realized it was his presence giving her restlessness and decided to wait until she was asleep.  Still creepy, but she doubted he saw her as more than a means to an end to even care. 

She simply mumbled a reply, doubling muffled by the mattress.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.” 

She raised her head just enough to speak clearly.  “I said, damn it, can I ever get one moment by myself?”

“Until all of this over—”

“I’m under your watchful eye.  It was rhetorical.”  Reagan pushed herself up, standing beside her bed for a moment before digging through her drawers for pajamas.  She wandered down the hall and into the bathroom to change and get ready for the few hours of sleep she was going to get.  “Can I have the morning off from practice?” 

“Why?” 

Arrogant bastard.  He knew why, she knew he did.  He knew she was tired and knew she was waspish when given questions she wanted to nothing to do with.  She stared at her reflection in resignation.  Not tonight.  She could not give in to her frustration for his amusement.

“Because I have to deal with last-minute arrangements for the gala.”  Reagan stated as she came back, sorting her laundry into the hampers by the door, weariness seeping into her tone.  “And if I don’t do them, I won’t have the position to get you into the gala to begin in order to steal this thing.”

“I could just do it myself, really.”

“Without risking your cover?  You’d have to be in two places at once and there’s only so much magic you can do, as I recall.” 

He cocked his eyebrows and looked off to his left, towards her desk in silence, as if to say ‘fair enough’.  His fingers traced the edging of the upholstery of the large chair.

She was tired, but her brain managed to process his silence as odd, especially considering she had insulted his pride by speaking the truth.  He needed to conserve his magic to keep his glamoured appearance, to teach her.  Usually he badgered her until their magic flared up and her head pounded and she flicked her hand at something to relieve the magical build-up when he didn’t manage to take.  She tried to keep that to water bottles.  At least those were easy to clean up. 

The days he did draw from her, she felt like a tool.  A way for him to keep his magic, to retrieve the sword and go back home.  She knew a human with magic was not something S.H.I.E.L.D would not want wandering around. 

His silence, at the moment, unnerved her.  Loki was a schemer and while there were times she often welcomed the comfortable silence, it was not like him to relent without at least giving a last verbal jab. 

“What’s wrong?”  She asked hesitantly, turning off her bedside lamp as she crawled under the covers, yellow light from the street lamps seeping in through her blinds. 

“Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”  He said softly.

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes, Reagan, I’m sure.”  She caught a hint of a smile from him in the dim light.

* * *

 

The large gallery of the museum, with a row of columns separating the space from its entrance on either end, had been transformed over the course of the morning into a dining hall, round tables with red table clothes filling the space.  Flower arrangements were being placed by interns with the table numbers, Reagan following closely behind with name-cards.  Red banners were hung vertically over the span of the longer walls, offering color without requiring much work.  The glass ceiling offered the bright afternoon sun, which would be replaced by a halo of light below its frame later on. 

The space was primarily a sculpture gallery, a transitional space near the Viking and Scandinavian exhibition.  Normally filled with a combination of bronzes and marbles by Rodin, Degas, Renoir, and others, the gallery was cleared overnight with the pieces placed in safe storage in the basement, leaving it gapping and vacant, hollow. 

It hadn’t lasted long before the tables and chairs arrived and were arranged.  An occasional visitor peaked in, having missed or ignored the very clear sign the gallery was closed.

Reagan checked her phone to see the time, ignoring the unread messages glaring at her.  The caterers would arrive in an hour, the orchestra an hour after that for set-up.  She had a half-hour to get across town for her hair appointment, after which she’d head back home to get ready.

She ran through everything still needing to be done with the interns and staff again and snapped a few pictures to send a progress report to her boss, who was off handling client meetings to make a few deals before the gala.

Her appointment was across town and she would have enough time afterwards to eat a snack and get dressed. 

She wished a nap would fit into the short break in her schedule.

* * *

Reagan had chosen her dress for practicality; long sleeves to avoid needing to carry a jacket, pockets to replace a clutch to worry over.  The navy blue fabric was soft against her skin.  Even if the narrow, plunging neckline was a little much for her, the detailing of embroidery and beadwork and the regal confidence the shape of the dress gave her made up for it.  She only wished that confidence could bleed into everything and not just her own appearance.

She spent the time before dinner at her boss’s side, greeting guests and reminding him of names or who not to mention or their recent purchases within the art market.  They were in the transitional space between the entrance and the large gala space, giving her a view of most of the guests attending as they entered.  She had shaken the hand of Pepper Potts, who had managed to bring Tony Stark to at least make an appearance.  Perhaps it was paranoia, but she could have sworn he recognized her, his gaze resting on her face a few fractions of a minute longer than she expected.

Reagan hoped it was a misunderstanding and not because S.H.I.E.L.D had forwarded whatever footage of her encounter with Fenris to the Avengers.

_Of course they did_ , Reagan thought bitterly.   _A giant wolf chasing a specific individual for multiple blocks, disappearing down an alley, and then…nothing?  She’s completely fine?  It’s sketchy as hell._

She felt a hand on her arm, jolting her from her worries.  Following the hand, she looked up at Carlisle, his head turned towards her with an expression she was not quite able to discern as confusion or concern, but she knew the silent questions being asked, as it was not the first time she was uncomfortable with the way some of the firm’s clients looked at her.  She realized he was attaching Stark’s womanizing past to the situation, despite the knowledge of the relationship the billionaire had with his CEO. 

“I’m fine.  And no.  I’ve never met the man.”   _Otherwise I wouldn't have had to ask to arrange a delivery in order to even talk to him._

He nodded, his hand lingering on her sleeved arm a little longer before a boisterous greeting distracted him and he remembered to smile just in time. 

Loki had yet to show his face.  She had given him the invitation to get in (or if she had forgotten, he surely took it or made an illusion of one, she was certain), and he had agreed to meet her there.  He could have, perhaps, passed the greeting party.  He could be late.  She could have shaken his hand and not have known it was him.  He could have been recognized by Stark before he even set foot through the door and detained or some other situation her mind was managing to create.  The last one was not a likely possibility.  He would not get caught or recognized unless he wanted to be. 

He  _had_ mentioned using a stronger glamour on himself to avoid the facial recognition security; after Stuttgart’s mess, as well as for the protection of guests and relics, it was a necessity.  Which was why she considered his thought to accomplish every step of stealing the statue himself ridiculous.  She could at least get him in properly without drawing attention to him.

And to fit in, he would approach the greeting party as all of the other guests had.

Reagan’s rationalization was sound when she heard a man shaking Carlisle’s hand mention how wonderful it was to meet the person keeping her so busy. 

The voice and build were the same but he looked nothing like the Loki she had seen the night before.  His hair was auburn, cropped shorter with a little more on the top than the sides.  He had gelled it back, although it did little to prevent the natural curl from coming through.  His eyes, usually green, seemed to be blue; she attributed that to the tie, an exact match for the navy blue of her dress. 

“I was wondering when you’d show, I hope they didn’t give you trouble at the door,” she smiled, taking his hands and finding them radiating warmth rather than their usual chill before mimicking his movement when he leaned in to brush his lips on her cheek. 

“None at all,” he replied, “I won’t keep you, we’ll have time for discussion later.”

To anyone else, their quiet exchange appeared to be that of good friends, perhaps lovers, not scheming individuals intending to figure out a way to replicate and exchange a priceless artifact. 

Reagan tried to follow him with her eyes but lost him in the crowd.  He would not be found unless he wanted to be.

* * *

She did not see him until a little before dinner, finding him holding a glass in one hand with his other in his trouser pocket casually, staring intently at the rock carved with what was supposed to have been his face created centuries ago.  He was the only one left in the gallery.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she approached, clutching a similar glass in her own hands.

“I once tricked a mortal with a visage like this, actually.”  He nodded his head in the direction of the vitrine, an echo of their meeting conversation.  “Was quite itchy, that mustache.”

“What is it you needed to tell me last night?”  She asked softly. 

“Several things, but one of them you’re already aware of now.”  His eyes moved from the rock to the glass partition, where his reflection showed his true face for a moment before the glamour took over to correct it. 

“Whether Stark would show.  He gave me an odd look when he arrived.”

“He doesn’t recognize you, if that’s your concern.  Or he won’t now.”  Loki shrugged a shoulder indifferently.  “Human memory is quite easy to tamper with.”

Her shock was balanced by her relief of the knowledge of her preservation.  A nagging thought in the back of her head was disgusted by that relief, that she should be far more annoyed at his actions of messing with someone’s memories.

“What else?”

“We take it tonight.”  He took a sip from his glass, watching her.

“Why?  And how, for that matter?  It’ll be quite crowded in here after dinner.”  Whatever anxiety she had managed to suppress since she arrived came back, knotting her stomach.  Loki wasn't impulsive, he fed into the impulses of others, he was meticulous with research and decisions.  And yet he decided it would be better to expend more magic and take the statue now, rather than at least using the trip to conservation as a cover.  She felt unsteady in the heels she was used to wearing and it suddenly became harder to breathe.  

“It’ll take more time than we have to explain why.  But the sooner we have this, the better.”

“How?  The plan we have is sound.”

“And required more time than I thought we had.  I’ll take care of it and meet you at the table.  Order for me and make an excuse of a phonecall.”  Loki’s tone indicated she was dismissed and would get no more answers.

She did as he requested, familiar enough with his tastes to know what he would eat.  She distracted herself with conversation after the speeches and thank-you toasts and tried to keep eyes away from the entrance, lest she be seen as either distracted or worried.  He missed the first two courses, the waiters smartly choosing to skip the empty place until it was occupied, whenever that would be.

He appeared just after the dishes were set, his hands on her shoulders startling her as he leaned down to peck her cheek, murmuring praise at her selection of the dinner course.  He apologized profusely to the table and let Reagan go through introductions before he sat down.

Dinner went quite pleasantly, Loki blending in much like a chameleon, bringing up conversation topics when natural pauses between courses happened and offering compliments to her boss on the evening.

“Merely a way to celebrate being able to bring together this specific collection.  Some were hard to find, but the curators and the museum are pleased, I think.”  Carlisle said.  “Most of the planning was Reagan’s doing, I only had to sign off on budgets and dates.  I think it’s fair to say I’d be lost without her most days.  The best PA I’ve had.” 

A waiter came around and removed the dishes, taking orders for coffee and dessert. 

_This is not a tangle I want to be in.  Awkward doesn't even cover it,_ Reagan thought, wishing she could shrink in her chair and disappear as Loki turned to look at her, his eyes endearing and voice loving.  She glanced up at him, playing the part.

“I would be drifting, lost at sea, if not for her.  She is my beacon.” His lips brushed against her forehead.

The rest of the table would assume some metaphorical meaning behind his words, not knowing how true they actually were.  The act made her uncomfortable, adding to the tension and anxiety already tightening her limbs and her stomach.  His behavior was a farce to begin with and it was in front of her colleagues and her boss. 

Dessert came a short while later and dancing and mingling resumed a little after.  Reagan found herself dancing a waltz after Loki had insisted it would be a waste of a good dress if she hadn’t bothered to dance. 

“Is it done?” The question tumbled from her lips in a hushed tone as soon as they began moving to the beat.

“Taken care of and able to be summoned at any time.”

“Replaced?”

“Have some faith, Reagan.  I know a thing or two about deception and stealing, magical limitations aside.”  The smile he gave her was an attempt to disarm her and any other time, it would have.  He noticed but kept his tone light.  “We can discuss everything later, but for right now, please relax.  Your tension is showing in your movements and I would very much like for you to enjoy your work and have some semblance of fun.”

How was she supposed to enjoy her hard work when she focused on making sure to play the part she found herself in, both in keeping her cover with him tonight, and her purpose regarding the sword?  She should be finishing the tasks her boss paid her to do, whisper names and details, remember little details utterly insignificant to other people but mattered in that one moment.  But she was roped into  _this_ too, a responsibility beyond herself and her paycheck, a responsibility to make sure this weapon stayed out of the wrong hands, responsible for Loki returning to Asgard and absolved of his crimes.

Never had the line been so thin to her before.  Everything was always so separate.  She tried to loosen her arms and follow the music, follow Loki much as she did when they sparred.  A different sort of dancing, far less forceful and deadly and the movements did her dress justice. 

“You could have warned me,” she said.  “I’m sure to have incessant questioning about my relationship for the next six months now.”

“And miss the chance to see you squirm and be uncomfortable in front of your co-workers?”

“You’re such an ass.  Why am I saving you again?”

“You’re saving the universe, I just happen to be along for the ride and reap the benefits of the end result.”

“Oh, that’s right.”  She said wryly. 

His upbringing had given him the social graces required for this event and it made the rest of the event that much more bearable for her.  She wasn’t entirely sure it wouldn’t have gone as smoothly as it seemed to have without his charisma and silver tongue. 

* * *

She pondered the past few hours in the taxi ride home, Loki sitting beside her and staring out of the window.  Reagan couldn’t call the evening fun, nor an escape from any of her responsibilities, as many others proclaimed. 

But it was not a wholly terrible evening either and she knew Loki had put an extensive amount of effort to not only act human but to not be arrogant and rude and alienate her.  The physical affection had not been repulsive but rather unexpected and untruthful.  It was so easy for him to play with other people and their emotions that he did not even care whether or not it was a lie they might have to keep up with when necessary. 

As she stepped inside and slipped off her shoes, Reagan noted the warm feeling in her veins of present magic.  She had no flare-ups the entire evening, partially attributed to Loki still skimming from her to keep up his glamour. 

She caught his façade fall as soon as he closed the door behind him before she went into the kitchen to dig out a late-night snack and tea.

“Explain the rush, God of Mischief.”  She said, her head in the depths of the freezer as she dug for the box of mint cookies Casey kept in the back. 

She felt his magic, felt him tear into the space between worlds and turned around to find the oddly-shaped blob that was meant to be a rooster on her kitchen island, staring at her.  The handle of the sickle caught the dim light and seemed to absorb it just as much as it reflected it.

“We cannot just go gallivanting to Asgard and return the sickle to Vidofnir.”

Reagan placed the frozen cookies on a plate and nudged them towards him.  “You never forget anything, though.  You’re thorough.  You said you know the texts so well you could read them backwards and upside down.”

“I knew them so well I forgot the very first part of the Ballad.”

“The seeress?”

Loki picked up the cookie and sniffed it before biting into it.  “Why freeze a cookie?”

“They’re good cold.  Adds to the minty-ness,” Reagan shrugged, turning to turn off the kettle.  “Do we have to seek out Groa first?”

“Yes.  Which pushes whatever vague timeframe we’ve had forward in order to make the journeys from Niflheim to Asgard and back down again.  Her blessing was what helped Svipdag survive to reach his goal; it’s a crucial, if superstitious, step that I can’t believe I overlooked.  Not to mention the sooner we start, the bigger the gap we put between us and whoever has been hired to come after you and the sickle.” 

Reagan placed a mug in front of him, fixed her own, and turned back to him, her elbows on the counter and hands clasping the cup.  She was tired, her feet and legs were screaming from standing on tall, narrow heels. Frustration and annoyance bubbled through her, both because he had avoided telling her and because it meant they had to leave sooner than anticipated. 

Or had he stumbled across this knowledge long before and just held off on telling her?  As she looked at him over the rim of her mug, she realized that was far more likely.  He  _was_ thorough and clever, but perhaps he did not consider the idea that the spells would be necessary, if even possible to be cast.  She was exhausted and calling him out on whether or not he was lying would be more energy than it was worth.  Did it even matter?  She knew now. 

Silence grew between them, Reagan’s eyes glazing over as she stared down and watched the steam curl and twist from her mug.  She should go change and head to bed.  Casey was off tonight.   _Probably fast asleep already too_ , Reagan thought with a hint of jealousy. 

Loki’s head shot up at the sound of squeaking floorboards and he waved his hand, the statue disappearing from the counter, and he stood tense, listening.  A shout from upstairs was cut short, followed by a thud of someone falling. 

Reagan picked up the skirt of her dress as Loki’s image flickered, the god disappearing as she dashed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the lack of updates; this past semester was difficult, but I’ve graduated and am, for the moment, done with academics and hunting for jobs. I’m hoping to have more time to work on this. It’s been years since I started this and I’m nowhere even close to being finished. 
> 
> This chapter's been worked on over the course of months and like everything else, is subject to change. I wanted to show parts with Reagan on her own, dealing with aspects of her life away from Loki, but also move the plot forward. It's not seamless, but Loki withholding information from her to just get something done seems more likely; "if you want something done right, do it yourself" kind of thing. His intentions are selfish, under the guise of protecting Reagan and the sickle, but this whole thing is also meant to be a chance for Loki to help obtain a weapon that could do far more damage in worse hands than his. I'm pretty sure I had something different in mind when I began this story, but things evolve and it works for now.
> 
> Thank you, readers, for your likes/follows/reviews and amazing patience.


	17. Chapter 17

Reagan felt her breath leave her as she was shoved into the wall opposite the bathroom as she passed it, her vision blurring with the impact. Picture frames fell off the wall, glass shattering on the floor. The attacker’s details were hard to make out in the dark but it hardly mattered to her what he or she looked like. She smelled rancid breath as the person came closer and she willed the energy around her outwards, staggering the figure as she fumbled for a light.

She ducked as the figure, a man, reached for her again, moving further into the hallway to face him; he was quicker and stepped on the hem of her gown, tripping her forward. The side of her head smacked against the hard wood, adrenaline pushing her to scramble back to her feet as fast as she could. She ducked again, spun, and kicked his extended arm, and then pushed his chest, knocking him back. The force was enough to cause him to tumble after he fell onto his shoulders, falling down the stairs and into the wall by the front door.

Her fingers crackled with electricity as she stalked into her bedroom, finding Loki elbowing his attacker from behind. She grabbed the figure’s arm as he stumbled back and gave a jolt to his chest before pushing him to the ground; his body twitched for a few moments and then went limp.

She felt Loki’s eyes on her as she walked out of her room and into her housemate’s. He called her name but it was muffled to her, as if she were underwater or very far away, unable to make out exactly what he was saying. She was too shocked, her heartbeat too loud in her ears for her to hear anything else. Her dear friend laid dead, a shocked but vacant expression staring at the doorway. A scream died in her throat and turned into a strangled cry as Reagan realized there was too much blood for her to even have a chance to be alive.

Lurching back through the threshold, she turned and dashed for the bathroom as a wave of nausea hit her. All her brain could process was Casey’s dead body and the knowledge that, if not for Reagan, if not for this insanity, she would be alive. The smell of blood and burnt flesh permeated the space and made her stomach churn. After a few deep breaths, she closed the lid of the toilet and reached for the lever before pushing herself up to limp to the sink. She sniffled, trying to keep her sobs from becoming screams as she took a cold cloth to her face.

She had killed and her best friend was dead within minutes of being home. So much for a decent evening.

Loki appeared a few minutes later, leaning on the doorframe. He said nothing, his face neutral as he looked into the hallway and the mess of glass and wood, at the tangle of a body at the bottom of the stairs. She met his eyes in the mirror, not caring how pathetic and messy and human she looked.

“You’re bleeding.” He said, as if such a thing should be obvious to her.

“What are you…” She stepped to turn and cried out as the shift of weight caused a sharp and searing pain into her feet; she tried to adjust her feet to ease the pain but lost balance, managing to grasp the counter in time to catch herself from falling entirely.

He was silent again, looking at her feet and the bloody steps she had left on the tile before scooping her up and sitting her on the lid of the toilet, lifting her legs onto the edge of the tub. She watched as he flicked on the light and dug in the medicine cabinet. He came back with a first-aid kit and tweezers and situated himself on the edge of the tub, her feet in his lap and the small garbage bin at his feet, and set to work.

She knew a basic healing spell but it was useless if the wound had debris in it. Something she might be able to tackle in the morning, when she wasn’t tired and feeling like someone had placed a weight on chest. Reagan wiped away stray tears and tried to focus on the pain of her feet, on the pricking she felt when shards were grabbed and pulled from her flesh, and later the burn of antiseptic.

He ripped open the sterile packs of gauze and began bandaging her feet. “Her death is not your fault.”

“Of course it is.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “If it weren’t for me and that stupid statue and this…responsibility I apparently have, she’d be alive. If I wasn’t part of some ridiculous, out-dated, pre-destined quest, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“But you are and her killers are dead at your hand. As far as the immediate events are concerned, everything is even and they cannot report to whoever hired them.” He tugged on the bandage to tighten the wrap he started and she hissed, glaring at him. He returned her gaze and continued, “You are not her killer and you are not at fault.”

Why did she get the feeling he knew exactly what the position she was in felt like? His words were spoken with more conviction than comfort, as if he had once felt responsible for something out of his control.

He lifted her legs and placed them where he sat as he stood up and returning the items to their place in the cabinet. “I’ll remove the bodies and heal her wound, hide the stains. That’ll avoid questions, I assume there might be authority involvement in removing her body.”

She nodded, although he wasn’t facing her to see the movement. “Are you okay to do that?”

“You’re the one who can barely walk, and yet you ask that?”

He walked out of the room to dispose of the bodies of the two men. She felt a similar shift in the magical veil and could only assume he threw the bodies there, into a void where they would remain. Limping out of the bathroom and into the first bedroom, she kneeled on the floor and watched him wave a hand over Casey’s wound, the blood vanishing with no trace left behind.

She felt a hand on her shoulder some moments later. Reagan sighed and rose to shuffle out of the room. With some difficulty, Reagan changed into pajamas and heavy slippers to hide the bandages and hung the dress back up, small areas along the hem torn, the cuffs singed from her magic. She shoved it in the closet for now and retrieved a broom and dustpan from the tiny hall closet, cleaning up the fractured frames and re-arranging the ones that remained in hopes that the space looked less blank. Make the space look less like a fight scene.

“Loki?” She called as she slowly walked downstairs, hearing noise from the kitchen. He closed the dishwasher as she entered the space, turning to face her. “I’m going to call emergency services, at least to have her body removed. I doubt you’ll want to be here, in case someone…”

He shrugged, leaning back on the counter. “No one’s spotted me thus far, and as far as anyone else in concerned, I’m unremarkable when they see me. I’ll stay, Reagan. The very least I can do, considering I’ve uprooted your life entirely.”

Perhaps it no longer mattered if anyone recognized him, she realized. There was little business they had left on Earth, with the statue in their possession.

She nodded, feeling in a haze again as she picked up her cell from the counter to make the call and recounted details she knew weren’t true but sounded as if they were. She cried when the ambulance arrived along with a police officer, sniffled, tried to sound upset but not hysterical. Loki sounded convincing and caring during his interview, and stayed beside her while they waited on the coroner’s decision, stroking her hair with her head on his shoulder.

A continuation of their façade from hours ago. _Only a few hours and I managed to steal an ancient artifact and get my best friend killed. Good going, Reagan_. Loki’s fingers were soothing, her eyes wanting to close but her mind not allowing it.

The coroner would run blood tests to rule out poison, she was told, but that the body would be ready in a week. Reagan didn’t expect anything less and passed along Casey’s family information to the officer. She watched from the kitchen doorway as the gurney left the house, refusing to turn away on sheer principle, to force herself to somehow grasp this was real.

Just as suddenly as the flurry of activity came, it left. Reagan slumped against the molding, pulling the long sleeves of her shirt over her hands and wrapping her arms around herself. The urge to scream hadn’t left and her guilt was not assuaged by Loki’s earlier words.

He was sitting at the kitchen table where she had left him some while ago. She got the feeling he wanted to say something but didn’t think it was appropriate to do so.

“Is this what you were hoping to prevent?” She wondered aloud, her voice cracking as she tried to swallow the desire to sob again.

“Yes.” She heard him walk over to her and caught movement in her peripheral vision as he moved to stand across from her. He looked haggard, the toll of magic use and not being able to replenish it showing. It would probably be days before he could properly cast something without holding back. “I’m sorry, Reagan.”

She wasn’t in the right frame of mind to argue whether or not he even meant it. How many more would die because of her, if she failed? Or by her own hand? She took a life and didn’t even think about it out of sheer survival.

“I don’t want to stay here.” She wiped away the stray tears with her sleeve a little harder than she should have. “I couldn’t…it feels wrong. Can I take your spare bed?”

“Of course. Take your time.” He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs and made no indication of following her to let her pack. 

* * *

Reagan stared at the cup of steaming coffee and the wrapped bagel beside it as she sat at the desk, knees to her chest in the large office chair. Loki had slid it onto the desk when he came back with breakfast and asked for at least half to be eaten before leaving again. She wasn’t hungry but she knew she should eat. The paper crinkled as she unwrapped it and picked up a half, nibbling on it.

The sun was barely up, beginning to seep into the room. The funeral was yesterday, a surreal moment where she gave a speech and ate with friends and Casey’s family, trying to recount stories from college and the recent years of living together. Loki held her hand for most of the time, or kept her close enough to remind her she was not alone, his hold gentle. She asked in the town car ride to the burial if his gestures were genuine comfort and not pity for her as a human or simply for the sake of appearances; he responded that he knew how much her friend meant to her and was not as terrible a person as to mock her for feeling grief and pain at such a loss.

She had made phone calls the previous weekend to Casey’s family and her own parents, as well as her boss; the latter to arrange a stretch of bereavement time for the week before the funeral and a week of training the next person who would hold her place until she came back.

If I come back, she reminded herself.

Her boss was far from happy about her sudden departure but was at least kind enough to grant her a promised spot when she returned. Her lease was solved, for now, paid in full for the next year. She and Loki would leave after she finished with work for an indefinite period of time. However long the trip took, she supposed.

The universes were literally open before her and everything felt uncertain yet assured.

The statue, which she was able to summon with some help from Loki tearing her to reach into the void between worlds, sat on the desk beside her coffee, the clay bearing traces of pigment from barely visible to the naked eye. It looked out of place on the glass surface, rough and weather-worn against the sleek and polished surface. She took the bird and held it in her lap, the clay radiating a strange warmth that was not unlike the feeling she often got when her magic interacted with the Trickster’s.

A part of her hated the stupid thing and the sickle under its wing.

She heard the electronic whirring of the door being unlocked and glanced up to watch the wards of the room shimmer as Loki came back, closing the door softly behind him. Reagan went back to staring at the statue, as if it would give her some answer, some prediction that they would be successful.

Loki removed his coat, folded it in half and dropped it on his bed, before moving towards the corner behind Reagan. He nudged the ottoman that sat in front of the armchair over to seat himself in front of her, placing his hands over hers as they rested on the statue. His hands were, as always, cold, a stark difference from the sculpture she held.

“I think she knew, in the weeks leading up to the gala,” Reagan murmured. “Nothing specifically, but that I wasn’t just running myself ragged for the fun of it.”

“Tell me about her. I knew her not at all.”

“Plenty of people spoke of her yesterday.”

“She meant a great deal to you and you were one of the only ones to not share much during the meal.”

So Reagan did. She told him of the first time she and Casey met, of their times as students in different majors living in the same hall. About the time Reagan took the other woman by the shoulders and swore that if that boy ever raised a hand to her again, he better have a will written, for he was a dead man. Their struggles finding a place to rent during grad school and residency programs but managing to make the best of it.

Loki listened intensely, taking the rooster from her when she started using her hands to gesture. When she felt a smile, albeit a sad one, cross her lips, he mimicked her. He would ask questions and genuinely found the humorous stories funny, as far as she could tell.

By the time she finished, it was late into the morning, bordering on noon. She felt better, lighter.

“Thanks,” she murmured, trying to rub the remaining fatigue from her eyes.

He looked down at the sculpture in his hands, scrutinizing it and perhaps seeing something she never would. He placed it back in her lap and covered her hands with his as he had earlier. “This will not get any easier but you know that already. Use those memories, those times you have with her, and make sure she didn’t die in vain, if that is what will get you through this.”

Reagan nodded and placed the rooster back on the desk, turning away from him to flip through her emails and create a pretense she had things to take care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this wrote itself after I came up with the ending for the last chapter. Kind of filler, kind of plot, but hopefully I'll be able to dive back into some more mythology to handle the back-and-forth part that's coming next. As always, I might go back and fix stuff.
> 
> Also, even though this is after the events of the Avengers, I like to think Loki felt a little guilty back when Odin fell into his sleep cycle right in the middle of their confrontation in Thor. Obviously the dynamic between Odin and Loki is changed at that point, but he knows Reagan's position of guilt and responsibility for an event out of her hands, especially when she could have used someone else to help balance her life out a little.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	18. Chapter 18

Asgard was a necessary stop, as much as Loki wished it wasn’t.  They both needed the abundant magic and it was the only way to get to Yggdrasil and Niflheim; the Aesir home was a hub and Earth did not have the means to travel directly to the icy, hellish, realm.

Reagan felt the world compress around her as Loki tore at the veil and they vanished, energy rushing around them and nearly knocking her breath from her lungs.  He had held onto her to make sure she didn’t slip into the abyss between worlds but let her go as soon as their feet touched polished flooring, as if he couldn’t stand touching her.   

Her breath stuck in her chest as she felt the difference in air, in smell, in _magic_.  It was in the very atmosphere, light enough that only those sensitive to it would notice.  Fire rushed through her veins as her magic reacted to the environment, acclimating itself to the readily-available supply, her head spinning as she tried to keep steady.  The backpack she wore seemed slightly lighter than it was mere moments ago, the straps digging into her coat.   

They had arrived in a large hall, the ceiling curving into a barrel vault and supported by buttressing below, chandeliers hanging at the center of the thin but supportive arches.  She climbed the steps leading up to a gathering space with a table, laden with food she had no names for.  The golden hue of the walls and floor was intensified by the fires in the braziers on the wall and the large pit in the center of the room.  While the style was certainly Norse (Asgardian, she had to remind herself, unless the humans had managed to leave an impression on the Aesir), it was influenced by other styles not known to her, although familiar in subtle ways. 

“Asgard proper will have to wait.  I wish to avoid the Allfather as long as possible.”  He walked past her, her head titled back to look at the intricate detailing in the ceiling. 

The room spun around her for a moment as the rush of magic finally made it to her head, pain blossoming behind her eyes.  “Shit.  Will I ever—” She hissed, the weight of the backpack pulling her backwards as she tried to coordinate her limbs to catch herself. 

Two guards, dressed in gold armor, caught her before she hit the floor.  The world swam around her and Loki’s words were muffled as he changed into Asgardian attire in a flash of magic and headed away from her.  Every part of her suddenly felt very heavy and she felt her eyes closing of their own accord.

* * *

She had woken in her traveling clothes on a very large and comfy bed, the frame basic with an intricately carved headboard and two posts curving into the heads of animals, bearing their own designs.  Her shoes sat to the side beside the chair on which her backpack had been placed. 

A dull ache sat at the base of her skull, an echo of the overwhelming pain from earlier that refused to leave. 

She was in Asgard.  Home was very far away and her chest tightened at the realization she would not be able to return quickly nor easily.  Then again, what was home?  It wasn’t the empty house anymore, with its covered furniture and eerie atmosphere that never felt quite warm no matter how much sunlight was let in.  So where did that leave her?  

She sat up and got off of the bed, her toes and ankles popping as she made her way to the en suite bathroom off to the left.  Perhaps a shower, better yet a bath, would help clear her head and unwind her chest and make it easier to breathe.  _Surely I’ve only been out a few hours_ , she thought. 

Pulling out her phone from her jacket pocket, she checked the time and realized the device would prove quite useless in tracking time outside of Midgard.  She turned back and tossed the black thing onto the bed.  No sense in keeping it nearby anymore.

The bathroom was spacious; a square grey marble tub was submerged into the floor to her left, with a large shower built into an alcove in the far corner across from her, and the toilet was sectioned off in a similar fashion.  The tiles were warm neutrals, browns and tans, with wooden tresses along the ceiling and lighting glimmering along the floor.

Reagan stared at the tub, uncertain about how one went about filling such a thing with no faucets. 

“Here, let me.” 

The voice took her off-guard, but before Reagan could ask anything regarding the woman’s sudden appearance, she had pulled a stone card hanging from the wall beside the sink and hooked it into a small alcove on the wall besides the tub.  The rune glowed a deep red and a spout unfolded from the wall, steam rising from the hot water spilling into the tub.

“You should get in while it’s still warm.  It’ll help your muscles.  Loki’s way of realm travel isn’t kind to everyone.”

Reagan took a moment to get a look at the other woman, the  _Aesir_ who had not bothered to knock or ask permission to enter.   _Then again,_ she thought,  _I’m the interloper.  Who am I to be angry about a lack of privacy?_

Red hair cascaded over the woman’s shoulders and down her back, braided and twisted to be kept out of her face, as vibrant as the fires in the foyer.  High cheekbones sat below storm grey eyes, wide with curiosity but clearly far from naivety.  Her dress was simple but detailed with embroidery that must have taken months, if not years, to complete; this stranger was no servant. 

“Forgive me, but you are…?”  Reagan prompted, shifting her weight in the silence that followed, only broken by the sound of pouring water.

“Sigyn, Lady Reagan.  It is my home to which Loki brought you.”  She bowed slightly at the waist, a stiff movement that signified respect to a guest but no more.  “I will fetch a maidservant to help you bathe and dress.”

Reagan made a motion to return the gesture but Sigyn had left without a further word.  She shrugged, striped, and hesitantly placed a toe in the water before slipping into the tub.  Warm water wrapped itself around her, a pleasant feeling that managed to remind her of home.   _Gone barely a few hours and I’m already homesick?  C’mon._   She thought, a frown crossing her face.  Reagan took in a gasp of air and pulled herself under the water, rising only when her lungs began to burn.  She wiped her eyes and pushed her hair back with a single motion as she moved to place her back to the wall of the tub.

She jumped as she noticed a girl in her older teens standing in the threshold, holding a carrier with different colored bottles in one hand and two towels over her shoulder.  “Sorry, still adjusting,” Reagan said, offering a smile.

The maid’s face remained impartial, save the polite smile she returned.  Reagan’s hair was washed and her skin scrubbed nearly raw before she was dressed in a simple grey tunic, black trousers, and a leather bodice of light grey and blue, embellished with swirls.  Leather boots were slipped onto her feet, the material flexible and soft.  Her hair was braided at her temples and pinned to hold back the rest of her hair, which had begun to dry in wavy tendrils.  Throughout the ordeal, her mind wandered and tried to figure out why the name Sigyn was significant.

_Loki’s wife, right?_ She thought.   _Coming here makes sense then, but surely he would have mentioned her._

She was led back to the main hall with the table of food and large brazier, the smell of smoke, wood, and spiced meat clinging to the air.  Loki was standing in front of the fire, lost in thought as he stared at the crackling flames.

“It’s far past dinner but Sigyn kept food aside for you, should you wish to eat.”  The shadows of the hall exaggerated his features, which bore only a trace of the fatigue from earlier.  “I suggest doing so, if only to be polite.”

Reagan’s stomach growled as she picked up a dish and began plucking slices of meat from their piles and spooning sides of potatoes and vegatables from their bowls.   _At least I don’t have to force myself_ , she thought.  The only sounds around her were that of the fire and her eating, which certainly did nothing to ease whatever overwhelming feelings she had about the dimension hopping.  She was waiting for Loki to speak, to deliver some ill omen of their travels to come, to do something other than pensively stare at the fire.  Her blood itched in her veins, the cloth on her skin felt stiff and unused, her chest ached as she tried to even her breathing. 

“How are you faring?”

She swallowed, unsure if she heard him, the question almost muttered rather than spoken aloud.  “My senses are swimming and I’m overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of everything.  Can’t tell if it’s the magic or my nerves running cold under my skin.  And yet it feels like a dream…” she trailed off, unsure of where her thought was going, before whispering “or maybe I just wish it was, would be easier to believe if that were the case.” 

“Your homesickness will pass; it was a sudden journey and adjustment is not easy, especially under pressure.”

She finished eating in silence, Loki summoning a chair and lounging into it in front of the fire, as if he had nothing better to do than stay with her.  She looked at her empty plate, her stomach protesting at the thought of seconds, only for a figure cloaked in black to step out from the side of the room and begin picking plates up.  Another came forward and then another, a procession line of ghostly figures taking one plate of the meal away.  Upon closer inspection, they were opaque and covered in runes, shining in the firelight, and had the facial structure of a humanoid figure but not the distinctive features. 

“Magical servants, woven from ancient runes spoken long ago.  They won’t harm you.”  The words were flat, as if bored by her fascination. 

Reagan realized one was waiting at her side, a hand pointing to the table, silently asking if she was finished with her plate.  “Oh, yes, thank you,” she handed the metal dish to the figure and it shuffled back into procession before vanishing into the shadows.

“A little creepy.  Absolutely amazing but still creepy.”  Reagan said, rising from the table and slowly making her way towards Loki, leaning on a wooden beam probably made from a whole tree, judging by the width. 

There was so much magic could do and she knew only a little, and knew even less about runes or runestones, for that matter.  Perhaps they were forms of different magic.  One derived from the other?  She could spend her whole life studying it and probably never reach a sound conclusion.

“May I ask you something?”  Reagan asked, watching the dancing shadows as the fire crackled on. 

“Do I have much of a choice?”

“I can leave you to your brooding, if that’s what you’d prefer.  But it’s more along the lines of a clarification than a metaphysical discussion.” 

“If you must.”

“Sigyn…”

“An old friend.  We learned our magic together, under Mother Frigga’s tutelage, and I would trust no one else to keep my presence here secret.”  He realized the reason she was asking about their hostess.  “I’m ineligible to be married to her, anyway…”  He touched his lips, the scars no longer hidden, the glamour useless now.  “The myths  _would_ pair me with a loyal wife to balance out my mischievous nature, such is your human ways with dichotomies to make sense of the world.” 

Reagan pushed her shoulder away from the pillar and was about to head back into the hallway she came from to go back to her room when Loki spoke again. 

“You can trust her, should you ever have need of her.” 

Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the grip he held on the arms of the chair, one thumb rubbing the pattern of the carving without looking at it, the stiffness in his lounging posture, the tension in his jaw.  He was uncomfortable, even though he was in the home of a friend, within the realm he grew up in.  Even in the home of a friend, a confidant, he was uneasy and so unlike the Loki she was familiar with. 

“I’m fine,” his tone was even but his words were too quick to be believable, the words soft, as if sensing her unasked question.

She wondered if he was trying to reassure her or himself; he still didn’t look at her, his sight seeing something she didn’t have the memories to see. 

He had comforted her and been there for her, probably much against his nature, when the only person she had outside of her family was lost to her.  He wasn’t okay, as much as he tried to hide it.  His home was not truly his home, he had divulged to her what felt like an eternity ago when she had accepted the possibility of this weird, destined path.  His childhood a façade, a failed ploy by the Allfather to unite two realms, the throne presented to him suddenly forever unachievable through conventional means. 

Whatever happened here after his fall into the abyss between worlds, the Battle of Manhattan and his return and subsequent punishment in Asgard, it clearly wasn’t easy for him to be back here, even if here wasn’t the palace.

Bravery rooted itself in her chest and gut and she found herself stepping towards him, her hand reaching out to touch his arm, the metal of his armor cold despite his proximity to the brazier. The usual jolt of magic was stronger, a burning crackle in her blood, but she ignored it, determined to follow through on her sudden impulse.

“I said I’m fine!” He hissed as he pulled his arm from her and stood, turning to face her.  His expression claimed otherwise, eyes full of silent fury, his body reacting to a threat that wasn’t there.

Reagan dropped her arm, her hand balling into a fist as she stared at him for a moment before deciding it was not worth the trouble to counter that he was, indeed, far from fine.  Her strides were long and purposeful as she walked past the chair, past him, and back down the corridor, slamming the bedroom door behind her. 

She was  _supposed_ to help him, this quest his as much as it was hers.  They were supposed to work together.  Or maybe she was just connecting too many dots and pulling from world mythology too much, adding expectations that shouldn’t exist.

Her fingers crackled with energy as her anger flared, the tingling sensation pulling her from her thoughts.  If she didn’t calm down, she’d be explaining to Sigyn why the room needed new drapery.  Reagan climbed onto the freshly-made bed and crossed her legs, letting the magic ebb and flow from her as she inhaled and exhaled. 

Sometime later, she was relaxed enough to give in to the exhaustion held off by the bath and good food, and she curled up under the thick blanket, her eyes tracing the patterns created by the dim light rune near the door until sleep found her. 

* * *

 

She had long stopped trying to figure out how much time had passed since they left Earth, or Midgard, as she was learning to call it.  Her pack was no longer heavy on her shoulders, she was without aches from trekking, and the cold of Niflheim no longer bit at her face.  A few weeks since their departure from Asgard, perhaps, was as far back as she could track. 

But even then, time passed differently in each realm. 

They had spoken little to each other beyond immediate concerns in stiff words and formal tones; when to make camp, checking their direction, nearby threats, supply restocking.

She read a book Sigyn lent her on practical magic skills and practiced when she had a chance.  Her success was manifested in a small, blue wisp that floated nearby, serving as a guide through the underworld.  Especially helpful ever since they had begun the descent into Niflheim proper, a giant gaping hole at the base of a waterfall, the water swallowed by darkness.  The only way down was a thin, rocky outcropping spiraling around the circumference of the structure; an entire day’s trek was spent on making it to the base, where the waterfall spilled into a river, the air heavy with fog.

Shadows in the shapes of people flickered in and out of her field of vision as she walked the shore along the river.  It was colder here, a cold that chilled the marrow in her bones, biting at the fibers of her being, burning her in a way the wind aboveground couldn’t.  Reagan openly gagged as the smell of rotting flesh came to her, bodies washed ashore in the dozens, others curled up in the dark recesses of the cavern walls in various states of decay.  The realm of death wouldn’t exactly smell pleasant, she assumed, but the intensity of the stench made her head spin.

She needed to find this seeress.  They were nearly there.  Relief washed over her as she caught a glimpse of a metal gate, the first of many into the descent to Hela and her domain, a place as dreadful as the worst of fears, the worst of dreams.

Reagan had memorized the introduction as best she could, knowing that, perhaps, changes were likely.  How accurate that section of the poem was was uncertain to her, at least in regards to lore and the ability of seeresses. 

She saw before her the iron gates across the river, a crumbling stone bridge leading a path across just above the water.  Two light runes Loki had cast to float around them bobbed around, giving a few feet of light and breaking up the fog but never penetrating the dimness entirely.  The river ran wide and swift, but sounded like a babbling creek, deceptive to those who underestimated the entrance.  She could only assume it wound its way into Hel and the gate was simply the proper entryway.

“Reagan,” Loki’s tone was hushed yet stiff and she caught him pulling back his arm as she turned to him, as if he had been intending to reach out to her should she not have heard him.  He put his arms behind his back in an attempt to make the motion less obvious.  “You’ve already met  _v_ _ölur_ when you met the Norns, but a dead seeress is vastly different and perhaps even more desperate than the immortal sisters who are comfortable with their location.  Gróa has been dead for centuries, her proper visage lost forever.  She may take whatever shape is most effective or…available, given the proximity to the newly departed.”

She stared at him for a moment, his words the first he had spoken to her about Gróa and the blessing in weeks.  But better to be even slightly prepared than to be taken off-guard entirely, she supposed.  His tone implied his warning wasn’t finished, merely pausing to let her process his words.

“And should you fall into the water, resist the tide, fight the urge to sleep.”

She shot him an odd look before casting a look to the dark water to her right and the nearest rotting carcass with hollow eyes and an outstretched hand, as if the figure had died waiting for help, managing to avoid the tide.  Turning to the structure, she noticed the bridge was centuries old, hardly maintained, a large chunk missing on the right side; one wrong step and she’d be taken by the under tow.    

“Water in the realm of the dead is a universal thing, then?  Like the Acheron, just without a ferryman?”

“The concept is similar.  Hel is the destination for those who died of cowardice, disease, old age, anyone who didn’t die valiantly in battle, and this river separates the living and dead, a natural barrier.  Should you fall in, it will take you into the depths of Hel; the further in you go, the less likely you are to return whole or return at all.”  He walked towards her, regarding her with a pensive expression as she eyed the bridge, wondering how best to cross.  “Entrance is often permanent without proper reason, such as our quest.  And I’d much prefer to wait until we have the feather to go beyond that gate.”

Reagan felt a hand on her back, pushing her towards the bridge.  She stumbled and caught the post before shooting a glare behind her at Loki, only to find nothing behind her.  She let out a breath through her nose and looked across the river where Loki stood, leaning against the bridge on the other side. 

Of course he would teleport across.

“Jerk,” she muttered, treading carefully across the bridge, side-stepping the edge near the gaping hole.  It was larger than she initially thought and she stopped several times to catch her footing, the crystal clear water reflecting her image back to her while showing the river’s silty floor littered with bones.  She moved too quickly in her attempt to reach the other side and the toes of her boot caught on the edge, tripping her.  Reagan landed on her knee, her gloved hands hitting the wet stone in time to catch herself. 

Loki let out a chuckle and she looked up to see him smirk, shake his head and turn around to face the gates.  She pushed herself up and walked forward, ignoring the pain in her leg as she passed Loki and gripped the iron bars covered in a permanent frost.  Beyond the barrier, she could make out an corridor with statues and ornate carvings before everything was lost to darkness again.  Reagan took a deep breath, squeezing the metal bars before letting the first words fall from her lips.

“Gróa, wake!  Wake, wise mother!  I stand at the doors of the dead and call on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of updates, I’ve been quite busy since August. Not doing exactly what I’d hoped to be by this time, but I’m working and interning most of the week, and I’ve had a lack of inspiration and time to work on this. Left it where it is on purpose, but that means the next chapter is a bit of a giveaway. 
> 
> I’m diverging from mythology with Sigyn; she’s a powerful, independent source of magic, an ally and a friend, and I plan to try and make her a reoccurring figure every so often. Reagan asks about her but it’s more to do with navigating unfamiliar territory and only knowing a partial truth provided by mythology. 
> 
> And it leaves wiggle room for potential. It wasn’t an original intention when I started this, the hesitation’s still there, but I’ve kind of decided that, if I choose to eventually include anything in the way of pairing Loki and Reagan, it’s going to be at the back-end, post-quest, as they re-adjust to the way things were before they met each other. 
> 
> Spirited Away (the calling of the water) and Garth Nix’s Abhorsen/Old Kingdom series (the servants being made of runes (rather than Charter Marks), Loki’s warning regarding the tide) were influences on parts of this chapter. 
> 
> As always, thank you, wonderful readers!


	19. Chapter 19

" _Gróa, wake! Wake, wise mother! I stand at the doors of the dead and call on you."_

A chill ran deep through her bones as she spoke the words, something far different than the burning cold that seared through her layers of clothes and heavy jacket, her very essence feeling the power she was calling upon.

"Remember, before you went to your burial mound, remember how you told your son to ask for help."

Reagan stuck to the original words, afraid of adjusting the poem to meet contemporary standards. She couldn't mess this up. Still so much to do and all of it depended on this going right. If it was even necessary. In which case, it didn't matter what she said or how, but the uncertainty of it...

Loki hadn't been willing to risk not coming here first and she refused to believe he "overlooked" it. He omitted it. She didn't care why he did, whether it was pride or his plan all along; she couldn't really afford to care.

A distant, howling sound broke the silence, growing louder and louder until a strong blast of wind slammed into her. A high-pitched, inhuman, scream followed, gaining volume until the figure was right in front of her face. Reagan felt thin fingers cold as ice clutching her hands as mist rolled out behind the emaciated figure, draped in the funerary attire she was once buried in. The smell of death, stagnant, rotten, clung to her; being so close, Reagan swallowed hard to keep herself from gagging as she brought her eyes to Gróa's sunken face.

He had warned her. Yet her breath managed to catch for a second longer than necessary.

Casey's eyes, once warm and welcoming, were cold and distant. Hers but not hers. Her blonde hair limp, hanging in her face, her nose partially rotting away, blood seeping through the threadbare and decaying funeral attire where Casey had been shot.

Her memories filled in the gaps of sunken, grey skin, hollow cheeks, trying to make her look more like the woman she remembered. She never thought she would see her friend's face used as a mask for a being unable to wear her own any longer. She had already died an unfair and sudden death, could she not be left in peace?

The seeress's head titled severely to the side as she gazed at Reagan, eyes flickering to Loki to acknowledge his presence, before staring back at her.

" _You_ are not my Svipdag." She snapped, as if offended to be called for anyone else but her son. Reagan felt a jolt in her hands, stronger than any she had ever had near Loki and watched Gróa's expression change as she realized she faced a mortal with magic. "Yet…you are touched, burdened." Her voice was a combination of Casey's and something, some _one_ else, someone ancient and long gone. "What dire fate makes you call on me who have left the quick world and lie in the mould?"

Reagan clenched her jaw, her hands numb from the freezing cold of Gróa's hands and the iron bars she held. She'd have to ad-lib the rest of the conversation then, a dangerous feat if she spoke the wrong words.

At least Loki would prove useful if she was dancing towards a trap.

"I have no two-faced step-mother, but I am to present a gift to Vidofnir, and another to Hela. I ultimately seek Laevateinn, the Wounding Wand, made at these very gates centuries ago, and hope to appease both in order to win it." Reagan sounded more confident than she felt, forcing herself to at least appear to know what she was doing.

A beat passed and Reagan anticipated a shrill laugh to come from the seeress' dead lips. Instead, Gróa said, "That road is long, and the quest will be longer. If the Fates favor you, 'tis not an impossible task, despite the story's circular logic."

"Then, if it pleases you, would you sing strong charms over me? We came seeking your blessing, as it is the ballad of your son that mentions the means of obtaining the sword. Without your charms, he never would have made it to Menglad."

The seeress gave Reagan a look that almost passed as pleased to have had been complimented on her abilities. Vertebrae cracked as she straightened her back and stood tall, recalling the blessings she had given her son so long ago.

Reagan's veins burned with the rush of ancient magic, enveloping her and the witch in a tide of gold as her eyes locked with Gróa's sunken ones, ones that looked too similar to Casey's mahogany eyes. Much like everything else, no one asked if she was truly ready for it, and a voice in the back of her mind wondered if she would be able to withstand this before it consumed her.

She heard words in old Norse, Gróa beginning her chant. Far more melodic and flowing than she expected it to be, but she could not understand the syllables. The coherent parts of her mind followed the pacing of pauses and mentions of names and pulled together what it could recall of the translations she knew. The seeress sang of relying on her own strength as Rani taught Rind; being kept on the right path by Urd's bolts; no threat of drowning; enemies wanting her wishes and wanting only peace; being unable to be bound; going unharmed by wind not wave at sea; fatal frost holding no grip on her flesh; no harm from dead Christian women's curses; and at last, a sharp wit and silver tongue.

"Now take the road with all its hidden dangers, and let no evil work against your task. You shall prosper for as long as my words live in your heart, young one."

Gróa left as quickly as she came, taking Casey's familiar face with her, back into the recesses of Niflheim and Hel. Reagan pulled her hands away from the iron gates, as if they had suddenly grew too hot to hold, shaking them to revitalize what feeling she could. She watched her fingers flex but felt nothing but a faint burning sensation and she dared not remove her gloves.

"Summon fire too quickly and you risk losing your hands entirely," Loki said, taking her hands into his slightly cooler ones, as if it were second nature, rubbing her knuckles and palm, the places most affected by the frozen metal and Gróa's bony hands. The prickliness and tingling weakening the longer her hands stayed in his.

"I'm impervious to biting frost." She said flatly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, casting him a confused look.

"But not to fire. Your nerves are too numb still. At least our trip back won't be as teeth-chattering."

She was not entirely sure his words were a jab at her lack of tolerance for the frozen tundra they had been traveling through or a jest meant to make her smile. She could decide the former and act like a brat, spitting acidic words that would do nothing to better the situation. She certainly didn't feel like smiling and while his words weren't comforting, it would be rude for her act petulant.

"For whatever it's worth, I'm sorry." He said, staring at her hands and testing how stiff her fingers were. Deciding they were still too cold, he continued the motions on her knuckles. "About that night. Asgard was once my home and then my cage. I grew up there but I do not belong there, yet neither do I belong in Jotunheim; after all, I _did_ attempt to destroy that entire realm…" He gave a self-depreciating smile before letting go of her hands, which had long since finally gotten their circulation back. "I thought...the whole situation with your Manhattan would give me a throne and a realm to rule. In the end, I was a tool, blinded by my pride and my pain."

Reagan bit her tongue, the memories of the files she read so long ago coming to the front of her mind. Her throat tingled, a phantom bruise crawling over her throat in the shape of his hand. People died because of him. She had forgotten that.

"You're still a murder, Loki. You still hurt my people and my planet, my home." Her words were firm, a reminder for her as much as they were for him. "Your pain does not make your actions acceptable, but it makes them understandable as far as cause-and-effect go. We're supposed to work together for the greater good of getting this weapon out of hands with weak wills and dark hearts or something, right?"

She broke eye contact, looking down to adjust the sleeves of her jacket and fix her gloves, shifting her weight. She was vaguely aware of the eerie, distant screams coming from the gate behind her.

"That was the plan."

"There's really no choice, at this point. But we're supposed to rely on each other, too. It's not as big of a weakness as you might think it is." She held her hand palm up, made a fist, and then flicked her fingers out, her wisp coming back and bouncing around her shoulders. "I accept your apology, since I also didn't know a boundary when I saw one that night."

She had nothing else to say on the matter and decided to take the lead and start their long trek back. The sooner they got on the road, the better; they would have to come back down again and surely whoever was also after the sword would know where they were by now.

As she neared the collapsed bridge, she felt Loki's hand slip into hers and a sudden, violent tug at her being, air forced from her lungs. Niflheim dissolved around them, her stomach knotting itself again as she focused on Loki's cold hand and she took her next step not onto cold stone, but glistening, polished metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, chapter nineteen. I meant to get this finished a while ago but real life demanded otherwise. I finally have a solid answer to the "who the hell is after this stupid sword?" question from a writer's perspective (which might require me back-tracking and fixing some stuff), so I now have a stronger idea of the shadow lurking over Loki and Reagan.
> 
> Thanks for reading and for the reviews, follows, and faves!


	20. Chapter 20

He let go of her as soon as they arrived, as if he couldn’t stand touching her, a change from mere minutes ago. 

Reagan couldn’t stop her head turning so she could look in every direction as she took in the portal’s structure and its guardian, amber eyes aware of everything and everyone, forever watching.  She was vaguely aware of the conversation going on around her between Loki and…Heimdall, that was his name, the Guardian of the Bifrost. 

“You return, son of Laufey.  With your mortal companion.”

“A brief respite.  What of the enemy we face?”

“I have seen his face but know not where he resides.  He is biding his time, stuck between letting you accomplish the task for him and the doubt that New York created in your abilities to do such.  It is rare an enemy escapes my gaze.”

She felt a hand on her elbow, bringing her out of her awe enough to stand straight and regain her senses.  Her tongue felt as loose as it was that night in her kitchen, when she first saw Loki in his armor, the pauldron bearing the wolf Fenrir, but she held it fast, for fear of spilling her guts instead of words.

“Welcome to Asgard, Reagan Caldwell.”  She snapped out of her awe upon the realization Heimdall was addressing _her_.  “Although it is not your _first_ time here.”

She settled for a bow from the waist with a hand on her heart, a gesture she had seen Loki do a few times, before thanking the gatekeeper for his kindness and the safe passage into Asgard.  He _did_ know of their trip to Sigyn’s, then.  Of course he did.  _He isn’t a Gatekeeper for nothing_ , she mused. 

Loki said nothing to Heimdall but waited patiently at the edge of the Bifrost for her to catch her bearings again.  They walked side by side in silence, save for the rushing of the waterfall into the abyss and their footsteps clicking on the Bifrost.

“So…this is…the rest of Asgard?” 

Everything beyond the portal was radiant, gold and glimmering and opulent.  If any human back in the first encounter with Asgardians had ever seen their homeworld, she had little doubt they would consider it a heavenly space. 

She paused and turned to look into the vast space beyond the portal, stars glistening and flickering in volumes she had never seen back on Earth.  One of those stars was Midgard, turning on without her. 

Reagan managed to pull herself out of her awe long enough to notice two guards approach on horseback, a shimmering metallic sound resonated every time the beasts’ hooves touched the Bifrost.  Behind them, a small squad of foot soldiers followed.  The ones on horseback pulled to a harsh halt in front of her and Loki, who bore a smile as thin as his patience for the royal guards’ appearances. 

“Oh, good, a royal escort.”  He remarked, raising his chin as he spoke, the silent question for a reason hanging in the air. 

“Loki Laufeyson, by order of the Allfather, we place you under arrest.”  One of the guards on horseback motioned towards the four foot soldiers to bind Lok’s wrists.

Reagan glanced at Loki as he passively allowed himself to be restrained with his arms in front of him, the manacles attached by a very short, solid rod, preventing the choking of a guard or hostage.  She frowned as she realized he wasn't fighting with them, rather letting them do they needed.  Wasn’t he free and serving his penance in the search for the sword?  Why would the Allfather want him restrained? 

“Under what charge?”  She asked incredulously.

“Removing the great wolf Fenrir from his prison and causing danger to the mortals on Midgard.”  The other cavalier said, as if the answer was clear as day.  He gestured and the foot soldiers created a formation around Loki, his face still impassive as stone as they began their journey to the palace. 

Damn him.  Of course this would happen. 

One of the riders offered an arm to Reagan, clearly offering her an option of riding rather than walking.  Eying the guard warily, she politely declined and gave preference to walking, instead choosing to keep pace with the squad. 

She had trekked through multiple realms twice now; she highly doubted a few more miles would kill her. 

* * *

Walking gave her time to admire the architecture as they made their way to the palace, catching the eye of many of the onlookers they passed by, words flying off hidden lips to interested ears.  Part of her was uneasy with this much attention, yet she also wondered how long it had been since the people of Asgard had seen their fallen Prince. 

Although the way the light was bouncing off the golden walls and floor of the throne room was starting to mess with her eyes, making it hard to look at anything too long.  Or perhaps that was the magic she was seeing, thick shimmering mist reflecting everything it touched in distorted, wibbled images. 

Did no one else notice it?

Their party halted in front of a large gold dais, upon which a large throne sat, swags of fabric moving gently with the breeze that came through windows behind the throne.  A man in golden armor— _what was it with Asgardians and gold, exactly?_ Reagan thought—held a staff in one hand, his other gripping the arm of the throne.  His eye patch matched his armor, a gold plate covering the eye socket, now empty from his deal to drink from Ymir’s well.  To the man’s left was a woman— _Frigga_ , Reagan recalled—slightly younger than the Allfather, dressed in a delicate, detailed dress, her blonde hair braided and pinned back.  She had a motherly face, her gentleness a match for Odin’s aggressive appearance.  Reagan met the woman’s eyes and a warm smile crossed Frigga’s lips.

Reagan was held back by a pair of spears crossing in front of her as Loki was brought forward and pushed onto his knees at the bottom of the stairs of the throne.  In that single, ice-cold eye, she swore she saw the look of exasperation from the Allfather before it was replaced with duty.

“Loki Laufeyson, you are accused of unfettering the wolf Fenrir, the creature known to be a danger to the Aesir, and unleashing him on Midgard.  You put mortals in danger and further damaged the secrecy between our Realm and theirs,” Odin’s voice was loud for his age, the sound echoing throughout the empty chamber.  “What say you?”

“Fenrir was a necessity to determine if my lead was correct.  It was.  I put him back.  No one was harmed.”  Reagan couldn’t see his face, but she had a feeling he wore a smirk across his scarred lips.

“There were other ways.” 

“It was for the greater good.  I spent too long looking for the mortal as it was, Fenrir’s nose is the greatest in all the Realms to sniff out magical energy.  Was I supposed to wait until a crisis to figure out who was meant to take the sword, wait until the enemy had it before stepping in?”  She watched Loki rise, his chains clattering as he stood.  “I saved more people in the long run.”

“And what of the mortals who saw him?”

Loki shrugged.  “So they add the incident to the conspiracy surrounding superheroes and other worlds.  It’s not as though those ideas weren’t there prior to this.” 

Reagan’s eyes darted between Loki’s back and the Allfather, whose face was calm but hand wrung the staff handle, processing the logic.  He had told her one night of Thor’s banishment, how the Allfather had a temper to be reckoned with when they were younger, how he had flinched at the shouting before Thor was thrown to Midgard.  Back when Loki was still an Odinson.

Odin pointed towards her and the guards moved their spears.  “This is she?” 

“Yes, Allfather.”  Loki glanced over his shoulder at her, giving a small jerk of his head for her to step forward.

Reagan walked towards the throne and stood beside Loki, aware of how dirty and tired both of them appeared-grey was not a good color to hide dirt and sweat, her hair a tangled, matted mess tied back.  She went down on her left knee, as Loki had been forced to do, but stayed there, acutely aware of her position and ability to disrespect those who were once gods.

“What is your name, child?

Child.  No one had called her a child since she was eight.

“Reagan Caldwell…Your Majesty,” she struggled to find a proper term to use to address him, trying to remember what little she had from pop culture to refer to royalty. 

“You may stand, mortal.  You were the one chased by the abominable creature, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”  She stood, adjusting her tunic and standing with her hands clasped in front of her.

She felt the air shift around her and heard something call out to her magic, which pooled towards her hands and made them glow in a golden shimmer. 

“Gróa did a fine job on her blessings.  And the nature of this magic…I can understand the hesitation.  It’s diluted, tainted by time.”  The Allfather paused, his brow furrowing in thought.  “Few would recognize it, but Fenrir is old enough to know the smell of old magic.” 

Reagan glanced up at Loki, who was holding back a satisfied expression as best he could, before turning her attention back to the throne.  Odin sighed and leaned back into the throne before speaking. 

“I will have Fenrir’s restraints strengthened and the wards fortified.  You will not be allowed near the beast alone for the rest of your life or his.”  He stood and gained his bearings before descending the steps before him, gesturing to the guards to remove Loki’s bindings.  “Now, to other business.”

Loki rubbed his wrists as the guards removed the manacles from his ankles, muttering a thanks when he was finished.  Frigga has followed her husband down the stairs and embraced the trickster warmly, clearly happy to see him.  She was the only mother Loki had, after all, and she was glad to see the Aesir treat him as favorably now as she did before his downward spiral.  The Queen turned to Reagan and introduced herself and asked about their journey before Odin interrupted with a soft murmur of his wife’s name.  She excused herself to see to having rooms prepared before meeting with community leaders later that afternoon.

Odin turned to the pair.  “I understand you have the sickle, if Heimdall’s visions were correct.” 

Reagan slid her backpack onto shoulder and unzipped a pocket to reveal the clay bird and the handle of the sickle, buried underneath a spare blanket.  She presented the statue to Odin, who shifted his staff into the crook of his elbow and took it gently, turning it to admire the crude handiwork.

“The blade has built up power over the millennia it’s been hidden; to pull it out would be to alert anyone looking for large magical disturbances to your location and actions.”  His words were meant for the two in front of him but his eyes were locked on the clay bird, an object he hadn’t seen since the forging of the sword.  “Vidofnir will be thrilled to have it back after all these years.”

In the distance, Reagan could have sworn she heard a soft crow from a rooster, different than the ones they had passed in the marketplace on the way to the palace; it was almost melodious.

Odin looked up from the statue, his eye glancing from Reagan and then to Loki.  Collecting his staff and cradling the clay bird in his elbow, he turned and began walking down a corridor leading deeper into the palace.  “Come, we have much to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I’d like to apologize for taking over a year to update this. Real life happened (it kind of smacked me in the face with the GRE, job hunting, grad school, and other personal stuff), and this chapter has been sitting in my head for a long time. My current situation just leaves little to no time for working on personal projects and I won’t have time away from school again except for a week in May and most of August.
> 
> Only recently (back during winter break) did I figure out how I wanted to handle the visit to the palace-the first draft was way different but too drawn out-because I realized I didn’t ever address what became of the matter of taking Fenrir out of Asgard. 
> 
> As always, thank you for keeping with this story, for your faves, reviews, and bookmarks. They mean the world to me!


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